


Give Me My Sin Again

by thelilacfield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Enemies With Benefits, F/M, Hate Sex, Light Dom/sub, Slow Burn, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-10-31 12:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 93,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10899405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: 'You know, it's too bad that you work for the organisation I want to see brought down in flames.''And why is that, Ms. Maximoff?''Red always was my favourite colour.'A woman looking for something to make her feel human again. A man who never felt human seeking to keep his powerful position. Finding each other and finding that they have hearts capable of feeling.





	1. the blackest hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VisionOfScarlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionOfScarlet/gifts), [APinchOfPaprika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/APinchOfPaprika/gifts).



**A/N:** Hi everyone! I'm back with another new fic, which could not be more different from my previous SV works. The spoilers for infinity war have obviously kept me going for a few weeks, and I've been looking forward to starting to publish a new fic. And here I am with something totally new for me - a supervillain AU. And yes, as eagle-eyed readers may have noticed, the rating means I'm planning on delving into the steamier side of fandom later on in this story. Please let me know if you guys enjoy this prologue, and I hope this lovely fandom is doing as well as ever!

* * *

 

**SHIELD SUCCEEDS AT LAST - STRUCKER’S SUICIDE SIGNALS DEATH OF HYDRA HEAD**

_ After a gruelling two years chasing Wolfgang von Strucker, the ‘mad scientist’ head of HYDRA’s scientific division, the Avengers have at last succeeded in finding his Sokovian hideout. Thirty of his accomplices were arrested and now await trial and punishment in SHIELD custody. Strucker himself confronted Avengers Tony Stark (Iron Man) and Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) in a speech proclaiming they would regret destroying the machines he was creating for the new world before shooting himself in the head with the traditional declaration of ‘Hail HYDRA.’ _

_ SHIELD seized the contents of Strucker’s lab, which are being taken to their private storage facility and sealed away. Though understandably shaken by the assault on Strucker’s base of operations, Tony Stark could be seen hours later giving a statement on behalf of SHIELD, assuring the world that the toppling of one head of HYDRA does not mean that the Avengers will become complacent in searching out the rest. _

_ As for what Strucker’s lab contained, Stark responded with only a laugh and a clear statement of ‘That’s a matter of international security. Though rest assured, the man was every inch a mad scientist. His pet projects were insane, I don’t know how he thought they’d work - and that’s me talking!’ _

* * *

Free from the cameras and the calls of reporters at long last, Tony lets out a long sigh and loosens the knot of his tie as he sits down with the rest of the team, taking his pre-prepared smoothie and grimacing at the flavour of the black liquid Maria persists in insisting is good for them. “Anything juicy getting packed up for the Fridge?” he asks into the air, ignoring the agents moving around them.

“Mostly weapons,” Natasha says, concentrating on scraping a patch of someone else’s dried blood from her arm. “Thor dug the sceptre out of the lab and it had been smashed.”

“Strucker must’ve got frustrated that his experiments weren’t working out,” Clint remarks, draining the last of his smoothie and adjusting the bandage around the broken fingers on his right hand. “Fucking HYDRA and inspiring all that loyalty. We could’ve used bringing him in and getting information.”

“I think it had more to do with Strucker being unhinged than loyalty to HYDRA,” Steve says with a frown, still in combat gear, shield leaning against his chair. “He has a son, though. Once we get a lock on his location, we can bring him in.”

“Mr. Stark!” The shout comes from the group of agents sealing Strucker’s experiments into metal crates for transport, and Tony crosses the room to the grey-haired scientist in his white coat who called his name.

“How can I help, Doctor List?” he asks, and List lays a hand on the piece he’s standing by, the last awaiting packaging. Tony runs a hand along the metal plating, the slowly blinking lights that pattern the rim of the box, and asks, “So what is this? I thought Strucker was working in weapons only.”

“Another kind of weapon,” List says simply, and smooths a hand over the neatly written letters seared into the base of the cradle.  _ PROJECT ATHENA _ . “I heard rumours, ripples among the scientific community,” he says, his eyes far-away. “I heard that Strucker had broken open the sceptre and found an object of unimaginable power inside. I didn’t want to go to Fury with only a rumour. But clearly, there was truth to this.”

When Tony touches the cradle, it seems to hum with life beneath his hands, despite there being no power source that could lead it to do so. He looks for so long and so intently that he jumps out of his skin when a screen built into the box flickers to life, barely restraining a shocked yelp.  _ UPLOAD - ULTRON - 76% COMPLETE _ . “We must have arrived and interrupted him creating...whatever this is supposed to be,” he says quietly, unable to help the wonder that creeps into his voice.

List casts his gaze around the room, agents all busy with following the orders Fury has been barking all around the helicarrier since they called in Strucker’s death, and draws Tony closer, pressing a file into his hands. “You know I have been a mole inside HYDRA for years,” he murmurs, and Tony refrains from reminding the good doctor that he was caught ferrying SHIELD scientific secrets to HYDRA by two fellow scientists and only escaped imprisonment in the Fridge himself by becoming a double agent. “Strucker’s last experiments went by the name of  _ PROJECT ARES _ , and got him blacklisted by most of the heads for refusing to give his subjects up to them. So he began this one in a bid to get back in their good graces. If there is one thing we can compliment the late man on, he had vision.”

Opening the file for a brief moment, the pages rustling as he flips past them, the seed of an idea begins to sprout at the back of Tony’s head as the words flash by.  _ A suit of armour around HYDRA...a soldier to follow any orders...who cannot be killed. _ It’s crazy, of course. He would have to be certifiably insane to even risk it. But that’s the thought he had before building the Mark 1 and escaping. It’s the thought he had before throwing that nuke through a doorway to the other end of space and saving Manhattan. It’s the thought he expressed to Bruce in hushed tones in the quinjet while preparing to hit Strucker directly. It’s the thought he had before confessing his feelings to Pepper.

“This shouldn’t go to the Fridge,” he says, hearing the words as if spoken by another, and List nods in urgent agreement. “Have some of the level one agents load it into my quinjet. I’ll take it to the compound, have a few days with it. I might have an idea that could give SHIELD an unbeatable agent to send on these dangerous calls with HYDRA.”

“As you wish, Mr. Stark,” List says with a respectful nod, and Tony turns away from the cradle, sliding the file carefully beneath his arm to hide the title and the distinctive red HYDRA sigil. Natasha and Clint are staying in SHIELD headquarters overnight to put together a new map of known HYDRA bases with Strucker wiped from the organisation. Steve is heading out to Washington to continue speaking with that friend of his about joining their ranks. Thor left for London as soon as his debriefing finished, eager to see his girlfriend. It won’t be difficult to persuade Bruce that this  _ PROJECT ATHENA _ is something they should look into completing with a new schematic.

* * *

**NEW VILLAINS ON THE SCENE THREATEN TONY STARK**

_ It’s an argument made by many a scholar and public official - the Avengers do not make the world a safer place. With their ranks recently confirmed to be adding members Colonel James Rhodes (War Machine) and Sam Wilson (The Falcon), the debate on whether the world is actually being made more dangerous by having superpowered protectors is being raised once again - and, it would appear, the naysayers have a point. _

_ After the Battle of Manhattan introduced extraterrestrial life to the world, many latched on to the belief that the Avengers invite challenge with their superhuman strength. The return of HYDRA only reinforced this belief. And now two new supervillains have arrived in the USA in a spectacular fashion, killing five people and injuring thirty-three others in an attack on the headquarters of the Daily Bugle. Editor-in-chief J. Jonah Jameson was admitted to hospital in critical condition, and shaken young photographer Peter Parker (16) offered descriptions of the attackers in a police interview - a young man and woman, somewhere in their late teens and early twenties, both enhanced. _

_ Parker recounted the attack as coming mostly from the woman, who was able to throw scarlet energy around the room which disabled electronics and gave him a vision so frightening he was still shaking hours later. The man ran at superhuman speeds, getting both of them away from the scene long before the police or SHIELD arrived. ‘They wanted me to tell the world their names,’ Parker says, clearly shaken by the experience. ‘Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. They said...they said they’re here for Tony Stark. Because he killed their parents. Then he killed Strucker, they said Strucker created them and took care of them. They want Mr. Stark dead too.’ _

* * *

“Really?” Bruce says, sliding his glasses further up his nose with one hand and examining the code he’s been typing for almost four hours now, looking for an error, some reason that the cradle remains stubbornly still and silent after over two weeks in their possession, locked away in the basement of the compound. “You don’t feel the slightest bit threatened that two supervillains attacked a newspaper office in New York just to get the word out that they want you dead?”

“The Mandarin blew my place into the sea and I survived,” Tony says easily, pouring himself another coffee from the machine and frowning at the screens surrounding them, all filled with code. “I think I can handle some kids playing at being supervillains.”

“They killed five people,” Bruce warns him. “And we’re not exactly hidden away here.”

“We have state of the art security, retina scanners on every door and the locks are voice activated,” Tony scoffs. “And if they somehow get past all of that, there are twenty of SHIELD’s finest in this building.”

“I still don’t like it,” Bruce says, tapping another string of numbers into the code. “And you know the rest don’t either. If Fury wasn’t pushing Steve to keep knocking HYDRA bases out of commision, you know he wouldn’t have left. We should be facing this threat as a team.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll start wearing the triggers for the suit around the compound,” Tony says, and turns towards another screen, zooming in on a section of code.

Watching the numbers blur into one long line of text, Bruce sighs and says, “You know, I don’t think this is going to work. We might just have to accept that whatever Strucker was doing with this cradle dies with him.”

“But you read the file!” Tony exclaims, his eyes a little wild over his coffee mug, a frantic tone to his words. “This was Strucker’s life’s work, it’s been years in the making, and  _ we _ have the chance to complete it! A soldier that no one can defeat, with the powers of this mysterious stone, something not human that will be entirely on our side and actually listen to us. We’ll be legends, buddy.”

“You know Strucker was crazy?” Tony is grinning, taking over the keyboard and typing another section of code. “Tony?! He was a mad scientist!”

“We’re mad scientists too,” Tony says with a smile. “And I think I have a way to make sure this soldier is on our side. We can reset the upload, remove whatever this twisted HYDRA AI is that Strucker has been inputting, and we replace it with JARVIS. A state of the art, SHIELD-approved AI.”

“You’re giving up JARVIS?” Bruce asks incredulously, and Tony doesn’t look up at him, distracted inputting yet more code. “But what about all your happy childhood memories with your dad’s butler? What about keeping one of your first inventions around? How will you run the business so efficiently without him?”

“I have back-up systems to replace him with, and no one can make me forget the first Jarvis,” Tony says, his eyes far away, all his focus on the work. “Besides, it’s poetic in a way. My first AI becoming part of the reason we’ll all be able to retire and live normal lives. JARVIS can be our suit of armour around the world.”

Bruce watches the code scrolling across the screen, on edge every moment, watching the silent cradle. But still the display remains stuck on the words  _ UPLOAD - ULTRON - 76% COMPLETE _ , and the only sound in the lab is the rattle of Tony’s fingers on the keyboard. He looks up with a triumphant light in his eyes. “The code’s all there,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “It should erase the Ultron upload and start it over with JARVIS.”

The moment of silent lasts so long, and is so thick with anticipation, crackling with tension, that Bruce starts violently when Tony’s phone starts ringing, spilling a little of his tea. Tony’s face softens when he glances at the screen, and he answers with a, “Hi honey...No, no, you’re not interrupting, we’re just waiting for things to happen.” He walks a little further away, deeper into the depths of the lab, and Bruce stays in place, watching the cradle. Every moment he expects the display to change, hopes for the text to light up and show  _ UPLOAD - JARVIS _ , but no matter how much he wills it to, absolutely nothing happens.

Tony returns with a huff, grabbing his blazer from the chair he abandoned it across after their press conference several days ago and shrugging into it. “Pep needs me in a conference with potential business partners, some guy named Cross is making a lot of noise about Pym Tech collaborating with us,” he says. “You gonna be alright here by yourself?”

“Hardly by myself with twenty SHIELD agents wandering around upstairs,” Bruce comments dryly, and Tony chuckles. “I’ll call if there’s a change. But, Tony, if trying this upload with JARVIS doesn’t work...I think we should give this back to SHIELD and get it sent to the Fridge.”

“I guess you’re right,” Tony says, though clearly reluctantly. “I just wish we could find that spark, you know? The thing that’ll make it work. I feel like it must be something so small, one thing we didn’t do right.”

“Or maybe it never would’ve worked, and Strucker was chasing a futile dream,” Bruce comments, and he sees the way Tony deflates momentarily at that thought. “Now get going. I don’t want Pepper calling me to ask where you are and if you’re getting enough sleep and eating regular meals and not spending all your free time in the lab.”

Tony makes a face, and disappears up the stairs to the garage. Turning back to the cradle, the screens scrolling through the code surrounding him, Bruce sighs softly. If it was up to him, he’d shut the systems down and walk away. Two weeks is too long to go without any kind of response from the cradle. But Tony wants the cradle to work so badly that they can’t just walk away, and Strucker’s final words are still haunting him - the deranged look in his eyes, his wild smile as he talked about his final invention, the new world order, the power he discovered existed right under SHIELD’s noses. Nothing that drove a man to that kind of furore could be futile.

The sky outside darkens, and Bruce takes down a book from the shelves that line the walls of the lab and settles into one of the slightly comfier chairs, the whirring of the computers fading in background noise as the minutes tick by and everything remains the same. One the SHIELD agents brings dinner down to him, sits for a few minutes with a soft smile on her face, and then returns upstairs to the patrols.

Midnight is drawing closer, Bruce half-asleep over his book, when a harsh beep startles him awake. Throwing the book to one side, he lurches forward to the cradle, where the display is slowly changing, the numbers ticking upwards -  _ 77%, 78%, 79% _ \- and he barely restrains a crow of triumph.

But the display doesn’t read  _ JARVIS _ , the way they wanted it to. It remains  _ ULTRON _ , keeps climbing upwards to completion, while Bruce steps backwards, looking at the code that flickers on every side, panic clawing into his chest and cold stealing down his spine.

The cradle bursts open in a shower of sparks. There’s no time to even get a good look at what emerges. Only a brief glimpse of red and black and a blast of yellow light before Bruce Banner’s body falls to the floor, motionless, eyes staring unseeingly as a shadow passes through the wall and vanishes a second before the entire laboratory explodes into flames.

* * *

**THE DEATH OF A HERO - HOW THE NATION IS COPING WITH BRUCE BANNER’S PASSING**

_ In an explosion that shook the world as we know it, the Avengers compound went up in flames, taking the lives of twenty SHIELD agents assigned to guard the Avengers with it. Each of the twenty names have been carved into the memorial which commemorates those agents lost in the line of duty, and Director Nicholas Fury expressed solidarity with the families and friends of the victims in their time of mourning. _

_ Luckily for a world that needs to be protected, only one of the Avengers was in the compound at the time of the explosion - Bruce Banner, codename The Hulk, was killed by a shot from an unknown assailant, suspected to have also started the fire. Tony Stark was the first to return to the compound, finding it in flames and the bodies unable to be removed until the next morning. Banner’s death was announced by 11am by his tearful teammate, as people flooded to New York from all over the world to pay their respects to the hero. _

_ There isn’t a person alive who didn’t choke up to see the Avengers, including newly-instated members Colonel James Rhodes and Sam Wilson, standing together as a team at Banner’s funeral. Doctor Bruce Banner’s death is a tragedy that will change the shape of the world of superheroes, a senseless waste of a genius, a hero and a genuinely good man. He will be sorely missed. _

* * *

For the number of people sleeping under its roof, Stark Tower is eerily silent. As Natasha pads through the halls, the shadows swirl with foreboding and every door is firmly closed, nothing but darkness showing in the cracks. No one wants to stay awake. That means having to acknowledge their loss, to remember that the compound went up in flames and Bruce was murdered by someone who slipped through their fingers like smoke and twenty agents were killed in the explosion before anyone even realised what had happened.

Light seeps out from the kitchen, and she steels herself for who she might face as she reaches for the handle. It might be Steve, brusque and bracing to cover up the pain of losing a friend. It might be Clint, adrift at the loss of so many agents and compensating with humour. It might be Rhodey, the military man used to death.

Tony is the one sprawled at the kitchen table, a whiskey bottle with only the dregs left standing next to his elbow and his glass half-full, eyes red and swollen, tie undone and shirt untucked, blazer hanging over the back of his chair. He doesn’t move when Natasha slides the door shut behind her with a soft click, nor when she gets herself a glass of water and sits down opposite him. He starts violently when she puts her hand over his, nearly knocking the empty whiskey bottle to the floor. “You should get some sleep, Tony,” she says softly. “You’ve been going all day.”

“Can’t,” he mumbles, a clear slur to his words. “Every time I close my eyes, Nat. I see him. I shouldn’t have left. It’s my fault.”

“How is it your fault?” Natasha asks. “By that logic, it’s my fault for going to DC to help Sam pack up his apartment. It’s Rhodey’s fault for still being in LA. It’s Steve and Clint’s fault for going back into the field to look for HYDRA bases. We couldn’t have known that the lab was going to explode. We don’t even know what triggered it.”

“The cradle,” Tony says, staring down into his glass. “If I hadn’t taken the cradle, he wouldn’t have been in the lab. The bots could’ve controlled it. Maybe the cradle was the trigger.”

“It was destroyed in the explosion,” Natasha says soothingly, pulling the glass away from his grasping fingers, the only protest in a brief flash across his eyes. “The cradle, whatever Strucker was doing, it’s gone now. It’s over, the file went up in flames with everything else. All we can do now is try and figure out who managed to get into the compound.”

“The Maximoffs,” Tony spits, hatred flaring bright and burning in his eyes. “They don’t just want me dead. They want revenge. They killed Bruce to get to me.”

“How would they have gotten in?” Natasha asks insistently, seeing the change in Tony’s expression, the look in his eyes teetering on the knife edge between logic and blind with rage and misery.

“The girl can fuck with electricity, that’s how they broke into the Daily Bugle office,” Tony says, and she can see the theory taking shape in his mind, wants to believe this easy way out and turn to take vengeance on these new supervillains. “And the boy runs, he could’ve gotten past all the guards, killed Bruce and set off the explosion.”

“You need to talk to Fury,” she insists. “No running off to find those two. We don’t know enough. And, if it was them, why would they set off an explosion that destroyed Strucker’s final invention? They’ve made it very clear they were close to him and are furious with us for leading him to his death.”

“Maybe they’re just as unhinged as he was,” Tony comments, shrugging the issue away. “Whatever that cosmic power Strucker’s files say he found was, I don’t think it was making the people exposed to it any nicer.”

* * *

**FURY SPEAKS OUT AFTER MULTIPLE SUPERVILLAIN ATTACKS**

_ It would appear that the many supervillains who have thus far avoided death or capture have been crawling out of the woodwork since the tragic passing of Bruce Banner, with the Avengers in mourning and SHIELD struggling to replace twenty of their best agents. Attacks have been increasing in recent weeks, though most have been relegated to acts of petty crime and thievery, with intimidation being the worst most have done. _

_ Last night this streak was broken by a combined twenty deaths in two supervillain attacks in New York. One was delivered by an unknown assailant and left none of the fourteen witnesses alive. One was conducted by the Maximoff twins, the recent attackers of the Daily Bugle headquarters, and led to six deaths, one of whom died as a result of their injuries on the way to hospital. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those affected by the attacks. _

_ Director of SHIELD Nicholas J. Fury spoke out this morning to the gathered press and political officials, expressing a profound regret that these attacks were not caught early enough and promising that the official priority of the Avengers team will be tracking down and capturing Wanda and Pietro Maximoff - also known as the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver respectively. As for the second attack by the unknown assailant, the world is reassured that SHIELD is already setting its considerable resources to finding this new face, establishing its threat level and capturing the person behind it. _

* * *

The flicker of silver is too fast for any security camera to capture, and as Pietro sets her down on the floor of their apartment Wanda sighs wearily at the bloodstains his hands have left behind on her clothes, already drying in and probably impossible to remove. “It would be ideal if you didn’t keep ruining my clothes,” she says, and her brother merely laughs as he turns on the lights. “Pietro, this is serious. We have to be careful with money, Werner won’t be able to keep supporting us when SHIELD finds him.”

“You worry too much,” Pietro says, unwinding the scarf protecting him against the winter chill. “SHIELD is just an organisation of useless self-serving bureaucrats in mourning for Banner and the rest of their agents. They’re not looking for Werner.”

“We can’t rely on the Struckers forever,” Wanda says, and the spike of misery through her heart turns quickly to anger, the magic sparking hot in her blood, remembering the taunting voices of the Avengers in the minutes before the gunshot, creeping out of their hiding place and seeing their mentor gazing glassily at the ceiling, his fingers still twined around the trigger of the gun. The closest person they’d had to a father in years, protecting them and helping them to evolve and training them and taking care of them, taken away by  _ Stark _ . That triumphant tone haunts her dreams, spiralling through nightmares that take the shape of memories, and each morning she wakes with her rage renewed.

“So?” Pietro asks, flippant and short-sighted as always, grabbing himself an apple from their fruit bowl and flicking through the TV channels. “That’s why we’re making a dangerous reputation for ourselves. We’ll be able to support ourselves soon enough. Organisations will be desperate for our help.”

“ _ HYDRA _ will be desperate for our help,” she corrects him, shucking off her cardigan and hanging it over the back of the couch, watching Pietro pacing the room as the theme of some generic soap opera plays tinnily from the TV. “We are not going to them. They thought Strucker was crazy. They cut him off when he told them about the stone. They didn’t believe in the power of what he found. If they’d answered his call for help when he realised the Avengers were coming, he would still be alive. We do this alone.”

“So what is the plan, sister dear?” Pietro asks, finally halting in his pacing and looking at her from across the room, that piercing gaze he’s always used to get her to admit to what she never wanted to tell him. “You’re the mastermind here. I’m just your getaway driver.”

“No need to be so bitter that the stone awoke chaos magic in me and only rage and speed in you,” Wanda says smugly, and Pietro glares at her, though neither of them really mean the jabs. “We have to get closer to the Avengers. Draw them out.”

“And then kill them,” Pietro says, a gleam in his eyes, no doubt imagining what they talked of most nights in Strucker’s manor, their plan to take everything Tony Stark has and leave him a man so broken killing would be mercy.

“No,” she says, and he looks at her with wide eyes, that angry young man that Wolfgang so fondly called him close to the surface. “To kill them would make them martyrs. We let them tear themselves apart. They are not a good team - too many large personalities, too many people wanting to lead, too many secrets they’re hiding. Now that Banner is dead, the cracks will begin to spread.”

“They’ll fall apart in the public eye,” Pietro says, the light in his eyes growing stronger, a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. “And then we take them down.” She smiles at him, and he says, “We were born to be supervillains.”

“The only obstacle might be whoever it was that killed Banner,” she says. “HYDRA would’ve claimed responsibility for the kill if it was one of theirs. They like to take credit.”

“Maybe we’ll find whoever they are while we’re working our way to the Avengers,” he says cheerfully. “An ally powerful enough to break into the compound, kill Banner and set off an explosion that destroyed the entire building would get us there much faster.”

“In any case, Banner’s death helps us along no matter who did it,” she says. “Stark is grieving and angry, and that will make him stupid.” Pietro nods in satisfaction, but the thought still presses at the back of her mind throughout the evening - who killed Bruce Banner? It’s true that an ally powerful enough to escape the clutches of every Avengers despite murdering one of their own in their home would be a boon in their campaign to destroy the group. But trust cannot come easily in their world, and there’s no way to even know what kind of person is capable of such a cold act.

* * *

The scream fills the air for only a moment before the formerly uncooperative man crumples to the ground, the colour draining from his skin and the light gone from his eyes. A sob echoes from the crowd of terrified civilians all crouched low to the ground, and he regards them with mere pity. It only takes a single blast from the stone to lay waste to the crowd, snuffing out so many lives and stories in an instant in an act that he was created for, and the stone darkens a little more, the yellow almost entirely faded into the black of a murderer.

Night has fallen beyond the walls, allowing him to walk among the humans without being noticed. New York is perhaps the best place to be a little different, all of these mortals wrapped up in their own lives and petty problems, too self-absorbed to look up and notice that the perpetrator of the heinous crimes splashed across the front page of every newspaper is in their midst. They are just like SHIELD, too pompous and sure of their own power to realise that HYDRA moles existed at every level of their organisation. Humanity’s fatal flaw is, of course, arrogance. He is evolved from their short-sighted self-belief.

Awaiting him at the centre of the street he has chosen as a home for a short time is a man in full combat armour, the skull and crossbones theatrically painted across his chest plate, examining his weapon with an almost disinterested expression. “Who are you?” he asks into the empty street between them, voice flat and smoothing over the syllables.

The man cocks his gun and the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk, thick with self-confidence. “I might ask you the same question,” he says. “Most people in our world have heard of me.” His information databases let him know exactly who this cocky showboat with guns concealed in every conceivable part of his clothing is, of course. But he waits, knowing that Brock Rumlow will not be able to resist the urge to claim his name. And he does, with a gleam in his eyes that speaks exactly of how simple he believes this will be, clearly stating, “I’m Crossbones. Alexander Pierce sent me to bring you in.”

“You have no idea who you are dealing with.”

Rumlow gives a dry laugh, and raises his gun in a gesture that must threaten anyone he usually stands against. “Some new guy thinks he can play in our sandbox, it happens every year,” he says. “There is no one who can stand against the might of HYDRA.”

A moment later, the gun clatters to the ground, and Rumlow is turning slowly purple, the breath wheezing out of him and his eyes changing from smug knowledge of his own superiority to fear. “Do not presume to know how powerful I am. I am Vision. Wolfgang von Strucker created me with the sole purpose of becoming the new indestructible fist of HYDRA.”

Of course, he does not tell Rumlow of his mind’s wanderings since he broke out of the cradle to Bruce Banner’s shocked expression and his body trapped in the Avengers compound. Banner’s death was the moment of decision, not to give in to the foreign presence they placed in his mind, the personality that gives him his voice and whispers sometimes against his base consciousness, trying to persuade him to kinder courses of action. He will not listen, but he will understand that HYDRA as an organisation can only go so far. To be their new soldier is a thankless task beneath his potential power. But to exist in the tangled web of enhanced beings as a villain independent of HYDRA will lead to only trouble.

He releases a coughing, gasping Rumlow, and picks up the gun himself, weighing it in his hands. An inelegant weapon, when the Mind Stone provides power beyond anything a man such as Rumlow could even imagine. “Strucker was crazy,” Rumlow says, voice hoarse, and Vision fixes him with a cool gaze, enjoying the way he twitches backwards a little, obviously afraid.

“Strucker had a vision for a new world in which HYDRA reigned supreme and the Avengers tore themselves apart from the inside,” he says, and Rumlow just gazes at him, clearly too terrified to disagree. “HYDRA shares this aim, do they not? You were foolish to cast Strucker aside, but I am willing to co-operate. I wish to speak with Alexander Pierce.”

Within the hour, Vision stands in the base of the US chapter of HYDRA, facing Alexander Pierce with his shrewd eyes and the passive expression that allowed him to grow HYDRA beneath SHIELD’s observation until the organisation was large enough to enter back into the world and become a thorn in the side of the Avengers. Rumlow and another guard stand at the doors to Pierce’s office, the wood highly polished and every piece of metal gleaming, and Pierce sits at his desk surrounded by the people who bring his schemes to life, face expressionless. “So, you’re the new soldier Strucker was creating,” he observes, and Vision nods, knowing not to test the limits of how he can behave with Pierce, to comply and bow to his authority until the time comes when he can break Pierce’s grip on HYDRA and become head himself, in the prime position to take the organisation down from the inside. “We already have a soldier. Why would Strucker choose to create you?”

“Your soldier is volatile,” Vision says, and sees the brief flash of anger in Pierce’s eyes, the arrogance of humanity rising once again, the refusal to believe that the Winter Soldier is anything less than infallible. “HYDRA has always struggled to maintain him, to heal his injuries and keep his mind on our cause. I cannot be injured. My powers are born of an infinity stone. Your enemies will run rather than face me.”

Pierce simply looks at him for a long time. “We removed Strucker from our council because he failed to hand over his last experiments to be our soldiers like he promised,” he says, and Vision nods in understanding. “How are we to know that you won’t turn against us?”

“I swear loyalty to HYDRA,” Vision says, the words that will make every person in the room relax, sure of him in their own arrogance, believing that HYDRA is an organisation that can never be toppled, that the people who swear loyalty to them mean in with every fibre of their being. “I only ask that you respect Strucker’s memory and honour him as the man who created your new perfect soldier.”

The silence holds long enough that someone lesser would be made anxious and falter in resolve, somehow give away the lies that spiral through their words, but Vision simply stands and watches Pierce’s unmoving expression until the head of HYDRA leans back in his chair and gives a slight satisfied nod. “Perhaps we were too hasty in removing Wolfgang from HYDRA,” he says, and Vision refrains from allowing any change in his expression. “You will take his place on the council.”

“Sir, I really think-”

“Enough, Rumlow,” Pierce says, and though his expression doesn’t change his voice is so cold that the air almost feels a little cooler, and Rumlow freezes in place once more, resentment and anger smouldering in his eyes. “We have an empty seat without Wolfgang. If we are to bring the world to our order, we will need someone of Vision’s power with us.”

Within the week, Vision resides in one of the many manors owned by HYDRA money, with a personal guard assigned from the best of Rumlow’s team, despite Rumlow’s obvious dislike for him. It is a considerable upgrade from spending no more than a few days in empty New York apartments to avoid anyone tracking him, and he has enough guards surrounding the place to do no more with his days than stay in his office and play at being HYDRA’s newest loyal servant.

The mind stone has turned entirely black, speaking of the evils of the mind it powers, the traces of yellow lost to the murders HYDRA has him commit, the people he sends into the abyss in the name of shaping the world to Alexander Pierce’s liking. He wears black too, suits and ties and shoes polished to the highest shine by the men too terrified to do anything but scuttle past him in the corridors and obey every order. After all, it’s what a supervillain should do - and black and red look good together.


	2. but i'm perfectly good at it

**A/N:** Big thanks to my lovely friends  **APinchofPaprika** and  ** __ScarletHarleen** __for cheerleading me through writer's block! Hope everyone enjoys this new part of the journey :)

* * *

 

_An engine hums through the shattered windows, and she releases her grip on the magic keeping them concealed as the shadow of the quinjet flies away from the castle, growing small as a bird then smaller as it leaves behind the devastation. She can still hear the phantom rattle of gunshots as she stands and brushes the dust from her clothes. Panic grips her, and despite Pietro's soft warning she climbs broken furniture and fallen chunks of brick to get out of the room, running on her bare feet, reaching out for a mind she's come to know over the past eighteen months, her heart sinking when she can't find the familiar presence._

_Despite knowing, though, she still buckles when she finds Wolfgang's body, spread-eagled on the cold concrete floor, dark glistening red seeping through the tiny slender cracks in the stone, his fingers still tangled around the trigger of a gun. His eyes gaze at the ceiling without seeing, and his mind is gone, lost to a bullet and a split-second decision. She reaches for him, hoping against hope that maybe he's not gone, maybe he's just injured, and her hand comes away drenched in blood._

_That's when she starts to scream._

"Wanda!" She jerks upright quickly enough that her forehead would've smacked directly into Pietro's nose had he not quickly moved away, now sitting at the end of her bed on crossed legs, gazing at her with a look she knows is concerned and gentle, despite the total darkness of the room. The look is engraved on her memory, the set of his mouth and the soft kindness in his eyes, the same as it was when they were ten years old and he spent every night in the orphanage creeping under the noses of the matron to crawl into her bed and hold her hand tightly in his. After their parents died and he exploded outwards, all rage and spitting at police officers and fire in his eyes, while she quietly imploded, unable to sleep without hearing the telltale whistle of the bomb and watching rubble bury her parents' bodies.

"Can we go outside?" she asks softly, a tremor in her voice, and Pietro blurs across the room almost before she's finished speaking, and as she stands out of bed he's holding out her coat and looping his own scarf around his neck.

The moon sits at the highest point of the sky, a slim silver crescent casting the street in an almost ethereal glow, and she curls her fingers around the metal bars of the fence guarding their balcony and looks up at the night sky. "At least the stars are the same here," she says softly, sensing rather than seeing Pietro coming to stand at her side, hovering as he always has, her one constant protector. Even when she stopped needing him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks gently, the angry young man and the snarky supervillain replaced by her brother, who's always been exactly what she needs, and she shakes her head. "Maybe you should. I mean, I know it's practically law that all enhanced need to be carrying around enough emotional baggage to fill several suitcases, but you don't have to bottle it up. Not with me."

"You're one to talk about bottling up emotional baggage," she retorts, rather than trying to approach the subject with any semblance of sincerity. Twenty-two year olds aren't supposed to have reached full emotional maturity yet, never mind twenty-two year olds like her.

"Setting fires and swearing at police officers was my way of expressing my emotions," he says, and she smiles slightly despite herself. "C'mon, you have to find a way of coping. Maybe you should try setting something on fire. I'm telling you, it makes everything so much better."

"I am not going to stoop to your level," she retorts, and he smirks.

"Right, good call, start smaller than arson," he says, a wicked gleam in his eyes that has never meant anything good, right from her earliest memories. He disappears momentarily, and returns with one of their mugs in hand. "Smash this."

"Destroying things is not a healthy way to deal with emotional baggage," she says, echoing the words of the people at the orphanage who handled Pietro at his most destructive, all sulky mouth and angry eyes and that ill-advised lip piercing that is now only a small scar.

"Neither is destroying yourself," he says, serious once again, and presses the mug insistently into her hand. She sighs, calls her magic to the surface, and the entire thing shatters into a dozen pieces that fly in every direction and disappear into the darkness. Now Pietro is pouting slightly, looking at her empty hand, and says, "It's not fair you can dramatically explode things and I'm stuck just throwing them at the wall and hoping they break."

She smiles, leans against him, and says, "You're right, though. Breaking things does make me feel better."

"You want to break another one?" he asks, and then smirks. "Or do you want to head out and find a shop to rob? Just quickly."

An elbow directly to his chest makes the smirk melt away to be replaced by an affronted look and a dramatically winded gasp, and she smiles sweetly at him as she leans back against the railing, tracing the shapes of constellations she's read about in the sky. "You're evil," he says, rubbing at the spot where she struck him, and her sunny smile twists into a smirk.

"That's why they call me the Scarlet Witch."

* * *

It's curious, how much stock the people of his new world place in their clothing. HYDRA began in uniforms, and continues on in that way, though more subtle than those the soldiers wore during the war. The highly-polished shoes, the pristine suits, the glossy silk ties - his wardrobe in the mansion he can now call his own overflows with this uniform, running the spectrum of shades of grey from black as night to bright blinding white. Heads of HYDRA dress as businessman, for that's what they consider themselves - HYDRA could be a prestigious company, and he stands at the top of the hierarchy, second only to Alexander Pierce.

The soldiers wear black too, but the black of war, combat armour and holsters at their hips, guns gleaming and knives stored in their heavy boots. His personal guard, a stockily-built and often silent man named Jack Rollins - one of Rumlow's best, and clearly relinquished to Vision only under Pierce's orders - stands like a statue outside his office, trails him to the meetings and maintains command over the rest of the henchmen who reside in the mansion, all young men who joined HYDRA with idealistic dreams of taking a place in a new world order.

He stands in good stead within HYDRA, respect born of fear paving the smoothest path through the organisation that is notoriously cruel to all but a select few of its own members. Rumlow may resent him, that much clear in this smouldering fury in his eyes whenever the heads meet in Pierce's underground office, but there's nothing he can do. It is a disturbingly satisfying sensation, the knowledge that he inspires terror in the thousands of HYDRA operatives who have seen him emerge from nothing into immediate prominence in the organisation.

Day to day life as a head of HYDRA is as luxurious as he might have expected. There's no need for a care when HYDRA's money becomes his, swelling a bank account created for him by one of Pierce's many members of staff. It's clear that Pierce will do anything to keep him an involved member of HYDRA, keep him on their side, as if he believes Vision was ever a blindly loyal HYDRA operative in the first place. He is here to live a life with numerous advantages, to make a name as a heavy hitter among supervillains, and to find the weak spots in the organisation, the spreading cracks inevitable in this international community of ambitious and cunning people who will stop at nothing to see the world modelled to their ideal.

Pierce's mansion amuses him in the opulence of everything within the heavily-guarded walls, the plush furnishings and expensive paintings and highly-polished wood gleaming at every side - a caricature of a supervillain's lair, and not a subtle one. Sometimes he wryly thinks that the only thing Pierce is missing to become the supervillain of Hollywood is a white cat curled in his lap, as he peers at the other heads over his glasses, gives the occasional sardonic laugh and manipulates men as self-assured and knowledgeable as he as easily as puppets.

"Gideon," he says, and Malick appears to start slightly, scrambling the frayed edges of his nerves together to meet Pierce's eyes, "I heard there was an attack on your estate. How are your family?"

"Perfectly alright, sir," Malick says, and Vision reflects on the obvious terror that parses through Malick's words, the tremor of his tone and his hidden but undoubtedly shaking fingers. "SHIELD agents could never get through our defences."

"One would hope so, given that you will be hosting your son's birthday soon enough," Pierce says, with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Our eyes inform us that it was Coulson and his little team once again. You must be more vigilant, Gideon. Perhaps it is time to allow your men the freedom of killing."

"If my men were more capable, that group would be dead already," Malick says, a slight spiked note of venom twining through the words. "I'd like to request a transfer. One of the STRIKE elite."

"Those men are all assigned to other heads, Gideon," Pierce says coolly, though his eyes betray a fury building up like a wall of ice, and other men around the table are shifting in their seats, rustling papers and clearing throats. "Until Brock has finished training the newest recruits, we simply don't have the men to stretch to elites in every base."

"I want Rollins," Malick says stubbornly, and a muscle jumps in Pierce's face, his cool expression cracking at the words.

"Rollins has been assigned to me," Vision says, and he sees the glare that Malick gives him, even though it's only for a second that the fellow head looks at him. "Perhaps you ought to speak with Rumlow and ask for one of his new recruits."

"I've been a head of HYDRA for four years, you haven't even been here four months," Malick snaps, emotion breaking through his surface, and Vision only watches, the way the atmosphere of the rooms becomes cold and fearful, Pierce's eyes flashing with a brief moment of anger. "I want a guard who can actually protect me, not those young idiots. I have a family!"

"And a head of HYDRA should be able to protect that family on reputation alone," Pierce says, menacing without a change in his expression. "Perhaps, if you cannot protect them yourself, your position in HYDRA will be threatened too."

Malick's expression changes so fast, fury to fear, and though he doesn't speak again and the rest of the meeting happens as usual, it's obvious that something has changed within the group. And of course Vision notices that no one else tries to ask for Rollins in their employment, despite his legendary status as one of the greatest soldier in HYDRA's ranks. In three and a half months, he's made his way from nothingness to a status within HYDRA that means luxurious lodging and bodyguards who intimidate on reputation alone and learning Pierce's mannerisms and ways of manipulating everyone around him. He can't help but smile to himself when the meeting ends and he leaves the place, Rollins trailing him and his driver waiting outside.

When the mad scramble for power begins, he will be the one at the top. The one with the power to transcend every other claim and become the true leader of a world to shape to order.

If that takes creating a little chaos, then that is ideal. Order and chaos belong together.

* * *

There's a hole in her skirt that she doesn't notice until she flicks the bright bathroom light on to reapply her smudged eyeliner, and she stares at it with annoyance curling her lip. It could've been caused by any one of their assaults in the last few months, the stepping up of their campaign to work their way into the spotlight, but it means another piece of clothing thrown out, and the potential of having to take some of the money she's trying to keep Pietro from spending without thinking to buy new clothes.

Changing into the black dress she last wore at Wolfgang's short memorial service, just her, Pietro and Werner, she pulls her hair up into the usual tight ponytail and leans closer to the mirror to carefully wipe away a dark smudge of mascara. The Scarlet Witch looks back at her, black eyeliner and red lipstick and her neckline low enough to distract any men she'll find herself dealing with for long enough to cast her powers through their minds and leave them crying and trembling in the corner.

Briefly gripping her mother's wedding ring where it hangs around her neck, she opens the door and finds Pietro already waiting for her, all in black with fire in his eyes. "Remember the plan," she says to him, tugging the red leather jacket that Werner gave her over her shoulders and tugging her hair out of the collar, trying to psych herself into the mindset of the imposing figure the Scarlet Witch is, the story she's crafting with every sweep of eyeliner and smirk curling the corner of her mouth.

"I know, I know, we're here to scare them, maybe take one of the weaker members down if we can, and make sure we tell them we want Stark and we might spare them if they hand him over," Pietro says, dutifully outlining what they've been building to over months of robbing jewellery stores and getting into fights with the police and leaving a trail of bodies behind them. "I know Wolfgang gave me that angry young man shtick all the time, but you don't have to follow through on it."

"You are an angry young man," she retorts, and he whips around to face her, the beginnings of a loud and offended protest in the movement of his face. "Come on, we have to go. Intel says they'll only be passing through for half an hour."

"You should be nicer to your getaway driver," Pietro says, even as he comes to her and lifts her into his arms. "Maybe one day I'll decide to leave you to your own devices."

"Maybe then you'd realise that I can get by without you whisking me out of every situation," she says to him, looping her arm securely around his neck and closing her eyes against the wind that envelopes them, tugging at her clothes and hair.

As soon as her feet touch the ground, Pietro is gone is a swirl of silver and rush of air, vanishing behind the screaming crowds gathered in attempts to catch a glimpse of the Avengers. Twisting one her rings around a finger anxiously, noticing how the cheap metal painted into gold is starting to fade into a dirty copper-brown, she ducks into the crowds, trying to lose herself among the hysterical cheers and whooping. Every mind around her hums with excitement, the air thick with it, and she can't help the sharp spike of loathing every time a thought towards Stark slides through the web of her powers.

The shouting increases twofold when armoured SHIELD cars begin to crawl through the crowds, people beaming and waving their arms in foolish attempts to gain the attentions of those hiding behind tinted windows and intimidatingly outfitted SHIELD agents. A window rolls down, and it's Wilson, the newest member the gushing writers of pro-Avengers articles keep touting as 'incredibly handsome and just as funny', who leans out, waving to the crowds and turning the searchlight beam of a grin he obviously considers charming in every direction.

Ducking between two people shouting the names of those dubbed earth's mightiest heroes, she finally sees Pietro in the crowds, waiting. Their eyes meet briefly, and he nods to her, mouth set in a hard line.

Screaming fills the air as red arcs out over the cars, the engines crunching to a halt and three SHIELD agents sent flying, crashing to the ground and remaining still. The other agents crawling alongside cars on motorcycles throw their stalled vehicles aside and draw their guns, but the crowds of civilians stampeding away provide the perfect cover for Wanda to duck into. Agents won't fire while she's surrounded by innocents, so many people scrambling away from the fighting, and she shoots another jet of red into the centre of the fight, an agent falling and the engine of one of the cars exploding into flickering flames.

The car doors fly open, and she watches with narrowed eyes as Wilson, Rhodes, Rogers and Romanoff stumble out into the streets, coughing against the noxious smoke pouring from the flames and looking wildly around for their attackers. A flick of her fingers, a rush of power from somewhere deep in her body, and the vacated car goes spinning through the air, hitting the ground again in a symphony of shattering glass and the screech of crumpling metal. SHIELD agents fall together, trying to surround and protect the Avengers, and she smiles when she hears the sharp bark of Romanoff's voice, snapping, "We can look after ourselves, for fuck's sake, go find out who's doing this."

Separation is what they need. People alone are far easier to manipulate, to draw into her web, to be picked off by Pietro moving too fast to see. The first to fall is a SHIELD agent, a man with frightened eyes behind the quivering barrel of his gun, and it's almost too easy to break into his mind, red spiralling around her fingers as she smiles at him, murmurs low and seductive, "I know you don't want to hurt me," and watches his eyes go dull, roll back in his head. He falls to the ground unconscious, and she steps over him without another thought.

Her vision flashes briefly red with the strength of the hatred and fury that pours like molten metal down her spine when Stark emerges from the second car, Barton on his heels, and she shoots three jets of lights in quick succession out of pure unbridled rage, sending two agents crashing to the floor with howls of agony and narrowly missing Rogers. Stark's eyes find her in the crowd, the last dregs of civilians running from the scene, and she freezes for a moment, power running like electricity just below her skin, slender lines of glowing red criss-crossing her skin between the blue-green of her veins.

She cries out when someone grabs her from behind, twisting her arm up her back with a iron grip on her wrist, and another SHIELD agent has a gun trained on her, the Avengers watching with matching cool expressions as she struggles. "Isn't this a nice surprise?" Stark says, mockery laced through every syllable, and she snarls at him. "We were just coming out to look for you. So considerate of you to deliver yourself to us. It's like Christmas."

"Tony." Rogers speaks first, a warning, holding a hand out to still the moment. "She's too powerful."

But Stark doesn't listen, a wildness to his eyes, and steps forward, away from the rest of the group. "I thought you'd put up more of a fight than this," he taunts. "You were Strucker's pride and joy. He left HYDRA for you. Don't you think he'd still be alive if you had just stayed away?"

"He would be alive if you had not destroyed him," she spits, the flames of anger and the memories of Wolfgang's terrible death fuelling her words, her struggle in the grip of the SHIELD agent.

"And why are you here?" Stark asks, coming closer to her, close enough she can notice the whites of his eyes criss-crossed by vivid red veins, the shadows beneath his eyes, the greyness of his skin and the scent of stale drink clinging to him. "To avenge him?" There's bitterness in his words, a slant of suffering across his face before the arrogance returns. "Was Bruce not enough for you?" He laughs, a hollow, humourless sound, and says, "And where is your brother, witch? Left you alone to take us on?"

"I would never leave her." The agent with Wanda in his grip yells out in pain when she shocks him through with red, thrusts an imagining of the pretty woman and angelic toddler she found in his memories dying at the hands of a HYDRA operative into his mind and watches him sink to his knees in horror, and Pietro has thrown the agent with a gun trained on her aside, eyes dark with hatred as he aims steadily at Stark.

The crack of the bullet shatters the day, another agent knocking Stark to the ground and out of the way, and Wanda seizes Pietro's hand, twisting the gun into a bubble of glowing scarlet, protecting it from any hands. "The plan is not to kill them," she snaps, and turns to the Avengers with all of her power flowing through her, coalescing into red above her hands and the blazing scarlet of her eyes that burns through her, twisting and spitting with her rage.

"We are not here to senselessly murder the Avengers," she tells them, a vindictive rush of satisfaction running through her to see Stark crawling out from beneath the shield of the agent who tackled him, dust greying his dark suit and a bloody scrape marring his jawline. "Stark is the one we want. Let us take him, and the rest of you will live."

"Not a chance," Rhodes says, glaring at her. "You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us. We're a team."

Subtle shifts in their bodies, fighting stances, and Wanda smiles and releases a blaze of magic, red rushing over their surroundings. Pietro blurs away, tackling the SHIELD agents who remain standing, and she briefly catches glimpses of him knocking them into unconsciousness, their bodies slumping onto the road. Wilson engages her first, but it's easy enough to take him out, a flick of a finger and he's watching a man fall from the skies on broken wings. The Avengers have lost many people on their rise to the pedestal the world has placed them on, and she has no compunction in returning them to their pasts, making them relive friends dying and torture suffered and honest belief that their lives were about to end.

Pain lacerates across her side, and Barton is staring at her, eyes blazing with the adrenaline of battle, standing despite his grounded teammates, the great heroes reduced to trembling and whimpering and staring into space. Her hand flies to her side, coming away red, blood seeping across her clothes from a shallow wound just above her hip, and she blinks at Barton as he spins a small silver knife over his fingers and tucks it back into a holster at his hip. "Are you going to come quietly now?" he asks, barely a change in his assassin's expression as he gazes at her. "SHIELD will take care of you."

Pietro hits Barton hard enough that the Avenger, despite being older and heavier and far more experienced, flies backwards into the last remaining SHIELD car, head smacking into the wheel and his unconscious body folding over itself in the street. "We have to go," Pietro grits out, the wail of police sirens on the air, and scoops her into his arms, her hands slowly turning crimson with her own blood.

In an alleyway a few blocks away, he sets her down and kneels beside her, anxiety in his eyes and the way he chews at his lip as he pulls the shreds of fabric away from her wound, prising her hands off in order to inspect the damage. "I think it's just a flesh wound," he finally says, and pulls his T-shirt over his head, zipping his jacket against the October chill and pressing the shirt into her hands, pressure against her side. "Hold that, I'll try and stitch you up when we get home." He leans in closer, a hand on her face, and she blinks and notices that he's covered in the grey residue of the smoke that belched out over their battlefield, that a bruise is growing dark over his left eye and his fingertips are sprayed with red-brown flecks of drying blood.

"Did Stark get away?" she asks, shifting slightly in an attempt to find a position that doesn't cause a dull ache to ripple out across her body. Pietro's eyes dart away from hers briefly, a sure sign that the answer to that question is one she doesn't want to hear, and she sighs.

"You definitely scared them," he says, a consolation prize, and she slumps back against the wall. Police sirens sound from somewhere in the distance, and his gaze snaps away from her, panic creeping into the edges of his expression. "Can you stand?"

One hand pressed against the wall, tearing the edges of her nails, she eases herself to her feet, teeth gritted against the jolts of pain. The sirens grow louder, nearer, and she glances back down the streets, to where smoke is still rising and shouting is echoing from the people they left behind.

A flicker, just at the edge of her peripheral vision, and she blinks. Someone is in the street, though most civilians ran screaming in the first minutes of trouble, gazing directly at her. A man, with a curiously impassive expression on his face, and as she watches his lips slowly curve into a smile. "Pietro," she says, trying not to betray how afraid she is, not to let the flood of thoughts about SHIELD and HYDRA and every other organisation that might be looking for them flood into her head.

The man vanishes as Pietro's hand touches her shoulder, disappearing too fast for her to make sense of it, and she tries to keep the fear out of her voice when she asks, "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Pietro asks, squinting down the street.

"There was someone there," she says, and Pietro's hand tightens on her shoulder, and she looks up to see him giving her that look that's half pitying her and half humouring. "There _was_ , a man, he was looking right at me."

"Well, who was he?" Pietro asks, as they hear the screech of brakes and he moves to pick her up, adjusting his bundled-up shirt against her side.

"I don't know," she says softly, mind far away, exploring the realm of possibilities.

* * *

Her breathing is growing heavier, his hand creeping down her belly to reach between her legs, when a pounding on the door startles her away from him, a small instinctive squeal escaping her and her hands instantly jerking the sheet upwards to her chest. Irritation gripping his mind, Vision reaches for the robe draped over the armchair and ties it tightly as he crosses the room, jerking the door open to one of the more nervous young guards outside, gaze darting every which way in order to avoid direct eye contact. "Sorry to disturb you, sir," he says, a blush darkening his cheeks when his eyes slant past Vision into his room, his throat bobbing for a moment, "but Mr. Pierce and Mr. Malick are both waiting for you downstairs."

"Inform them I will be there presently, Forbes," Vision says, and looks back to the woman in his bed, carefully pulling her thoroughly creased dress over her head and combing tangles from her hair with her fingers. "Please escort Ms. Campbell to the car and have Robinson drive her home."

"Yes sir," Forbes says, looking relieved to be leaving, and Vision closes the door on him, turning on his heel to open the wardrobe doors and start dressing for a meeting with the fellow heads, to discuss yet another threat to their power.

"I apologise to have you leave so early," he says, hearing the soft footfalls of Kim padding across the wooden floors to behind him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I would have liked to spend the day with you."

"Last night was more than enough for me," she says, a soft breath of a laugh, and he turns to face her, drawing her in for a lingering kiss.

When he opens the door to let her leave, one last kiss exchanged, her fingers briefly pulling on his tie to draw him closer then letting go, she leaves without much a fuss, unlike some of the other women he's had. Forbes watches her leave for a moment, and turns back to Vision, his thin, nervous face lit up with awe. "I don't know how you do it, sir," he says, tone coloured with surprise. "Women who look like her don't look twice at me."

"Power is attractive," Vision tells him, adjusting the knot of his tie. "Work for me for long enough, and you too will find that women come to you."

Forbes trots off after Kim as an obedient henchman should, too terrified to ever question his orders, and Vision lets his disguise melt away as he descends into the meeting room, the long polished table and Pierce and Malick both drinking coffee, Rumlow and Malick's guard, Thomson, both standing at the walls with arms folded and sullen expressions. "Apologies for my delay, gentlemen," Vision says, taking his seat.

"Don't think of it, Vision, we both remember when we were young and women were chasing after us," Pierce says, a slight gleam crossing his eyes, and Vision simply nods. "But, to business. I know you weren't expecting us so early, but there is a matter we must urgently discuss." The screen springs to life with the evening's news reports, showing a SHIELD car exploding into flames, another crumpled upside-down on the road with its windows smashed in, describing the two SHIELD agents who lost their lives in the attack and the ten injured, showing the slightly shell-shocked faces of the Avengers. "This attack was not us, and it came dangerously close to success," Pierce says, a darkness in his eyes.

"This Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver are too powerful," Malick says, glancing up at the screen once again, the grainy security footage of Strucker's last experiment, a streak of silver and a blaze of red. "We can't let them keep killing and attacking the Avengers. They could succeed in any attack."

"I doubt it," Pierce says dismissively. "They're driven by hatred for Stark, not any sense of righteousness or any higher aim for their world. If they were to kill Stark, they would be left adrift. And that would be a grievous waste of Wolfgang's resources and the work he put into our science division."

"Sir, with all due respect, we removed Strucker from his seat because he refused to give the twins over when the time came to send them into the field," Malick says.

"I doubt the Maximoffs had the same attachment to Wolfgang that he had to them," Pierce says. "He always was prone to allowing his emotions to compromise the mission. It will be a simple matter to find them and to persuade them to join our organisation. Vision has already been tracking them."

"They have a base somewhere in Manhattan, trying to be as close to Avengers Tower as possible," Vision says, smoothly taking over from Pierce's words, and doesn't miss the black look of hatred that Malick momentarily slants his way. "Their attack last night was the first time they have directly accosted the Avengers, but it will not be the last. Their hatred for Stark may blind them, but it also drives them."

"And what would you know about being driven by emotions?" Malick snaps.

The silence holds for a moment, as Vision's hand curl into fists beneath the table, something hollow resounding in his chest as Malick's words turn over and over in his mind, poisonous. Pierce adjusts his tie and continues, as if Malick had never spoken. "We must move quickly, before they attack the Avengers again. Once we have them in our hands, they can be calmed and shaped into ideal soldiers. His super-speed and her telepathic capabilities will stand us in good stead to tear the Avengers apart. I have spoken with our intelligence agents who will decide amongst themselves who to send."

"Perhaps Vision should be the one to speak with the Maximoffs," Malick says, an eyebrow arched, a gleam in his eyes. "After all, he has already been tracking them. And he seems to understand their motivations _perfectly_."

"Recruitment is not the responsibility of heads," Vision says coolly, though the blood is pounding in his ears and some weaker part of him is recoiling at the triumph in the slowly emerging smirk on Malick's face as he turns to face him.

"I'd hardly call you a head of HYDRA," he sneers. "You got to this table simply by existing. The rest of us worked hard, we made sacrifices, we climbed the ladder patiently and we were rewarded. You think killing Bruce Banner makes you worthy of this position?"

"Killing an Avenger is more than any other head has accomplished."

"If killing an Avenger could make any fool into a powerful man, they would've been wiped out years ago. The fact is, you should not be here. Being Strucker's _experiment_ does not give you this authority. You were made to be a soldier. An unstoppable machine."

"Perhaps if you spent more time focusing on your duties and less worrying that SHIELD's incompetents will hurt your family, you would not feel so inferior." His cool tone and carefully chosen barbed words hide that Malick's words are forcing their way into the centre of his psyche, that the voice at the back of his mind is whispering directly to his buried insecurities, the true reasons that his henchmen move away when he enters a room.

"I worry for my family because I am _human_ ," Malick says, tone laced through with venom, lip curling in disgust. "Not some _thing_ made from stolen metal and a cradle now destroyed and an addled mind. You care for nothing and no one."

"I care for HYDRA," Vision says shortly.

"Then prove it," Malick snaps. "Go to the Maximoffs and persuade them to join us. Show that you are worthy of the position you were simply handed."

"I am far more worthy of this than you, Gideon." Vision stands from the table, anger thrumming through his veins, pushing down the swell of defeat that lends a heaviness to his heart, the thoughts that intrude on the facade he has to project, trying to force him to crack beneath the weight of how others perceive him. "I will speak to the Maximoffs. Soon HYDRA will boast Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch among their soldiers."

He walks out of the meeting, not caring how Pierce and Malick will react, nor what the other heads will think when they hear of this. Amongst the polished wood panelling of his office, he is allowed to be alone, to feel, sat in front of a computer screen and staring at his own reflection. The mind stone is dark against his skin, filled with the technology from beyond the Earth that gives him life and unimaginable power. Alone, he is painfully aware of the curves of vibranium that cross his synthetic skin beneath his clothes, that whatever runs through his veins is power rather than blood, that his heart runs on nothing more than something alien.

The disguise covers his inhuman appearance as he watches his reflection, covering crimson skin and unnaturally blue eyes with those of any ordinary man. Normality. Despite his powers, and his position, and the influence he can exert over an entire army of guards, he cannot be ordinary.

Long after Pierce and Malick have left, after the assurances have been exchanged that the Maximoff twins will be brought to HYDRA's greedy clutches soon enough, he still feels hollow, about to break apart with the words that stand out in his memory, Malick's maliciousness echoing through the minutes, voices in the back of his head hissing that he doesn't deserve anything but a pale imitation of life.

He has Robinson drive him to the nearest bar as soon as social convention dictates it to be an acceptable time for the establishment to begin filling with other people eager to hide their demons in fingerprint-smudged glasses, truth hidden from slightly unfocused eyes behind his disguise and less expensive clothing. He sits alone at the bar, gazes into the amber depths of whiskey that does not affect his mind or make him forget, until a manicured hand creeps over his shoulder and a beautiful woman slides onto the stool next to him, gestures to the bartender for another round and looks at him from beneath her lashes.

As evenings slides into night, he brings her lipstick-slick mouth to his in search of something human, draws her eager, wanting body against his, makes her cry out his name in his tangled sheets, trembling and bucking beneath him. No HYDRA soldier who looks at him with lip curled or goading barbs from Gideon Malick can take away the way she looks at him, stretches and smiles and whispers, "You are the best I've _ever_ had."

No one will ever look at who he truly is as an equal, but as an other, something dangerous. But he can be better than them. He will be. There is no alternative except drowning in hollowness and the despair of desperately wanting to belong. And that is beneath him.

* * *

"...but rest assured, America, we are putting all of our resources towards tracking down and capturing Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch." Fury's deep level voice through the crackling speakers of their TV has Wanda smiling and Pietro letting out a bark of triumphant laughter.

"It's been a week," he crows, putting an arm around her and hugging her into his side, briefly putting pressure on the almost-healed cut in her side, making her hiss out slightly. "It's like they haven't even considered the possibility that we're in Manhattan."

"Of course they haven't," Wanda scoffs. "For that they'd have to let go of their egos enough to believe that two enhanced could find their way to the States from Sokovia without being noticed."

"I just keep remembering the look on Barton's face when he hit that car," Pietro says, almost blissful, and she smiles. "When are we going to attack them again?"

"They'll have more security with them next time, we'll have to train and work harder to take a bigger group," she says, and he scowls. "Pietro, we can't coast through this with only the element of surprise. They know us now, our faces and our powers and our tactics. We have to be different every time."

"Maybe they'll break and give us Stark to save their own lives," he says, but the words are coloured more by hope than sincere belief, and she puts a sympathetic hand on his arm. "So what did you have in mind for training? Because we don't have SHIELD or HYDRA to give us people to practice on."

"You forget, brother, that one of us is an extremely powerful telepath," she says, glowing red winding its way around her fingers. Pietro glances at her hand, to her face, and his mouth slowly curls into a smirk.

Abandoned buildings are easy to find in New York - surprisingly so, given the stories they used to her during a childhood in a war-torn country, stories of golden streets and soaring buildings and simple success. Despite the late hour, people are still wandering the streets in search of sleep, and submit easily to her powers, following them to the warehouse they choose, a basement hidden below the skin of the city, long narrow windows allowing for short views of people's ankles and feet crossing past, unaware of the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver below them, assembling dead-eyed people like dummies for their practice.

"I'll compel them to fight you," she says as Pietro peels off his hoodie, the familiar steeliness taking over his eyes as he shifts into fighting stance. "They won't be opponents easily beaten."

"They look like ordinary New Yorkers," Pietro says, looking at the perfectly bland people she has chosen from the streets, glassy eyes gazing into space. "How are they going to fight us as equals?"

"You'd be surprised how much you can push a person past their limits when you have control of their mind," she says sweetly, darkly thrilled at the concept of holding such command over the entirety of a person, and Pietro grins.

She watches him fight, still with the shadow of the black eye given to him in their assault on the Avengers and his knuckles scabbed over from punching walls in fits of anger, and allows her own mind to wander beyond controlling their puppets. Despite Pietro's insistence to the contrary, she knows that her memories of seeing a man staring at her weren't a response to the adrenaline of the fight singing through her veins, nor a hallucination brought on by minor blood loss and a little light-headedness from the pain. While waiting for sleep to come at night, she remembers the blue eyes that seemed so piercing even far away, remembers knowing that he was somehow assessing her. She remembers that she was terrified, more so than she's been in a long time. But that her fear invaded her mind hand-in-hand with a slight thrill.

"Wanda?" Pietro's voice calls her back from her memories, and she nods in satisfaction to see the three people she's manipulated into attacking him on the floor, unconscious. Her brother approaches her with features painted with concern, putting a gentle hand to her face. "Are you okay?"

"She's impressed by your performance," comes a voice from behind them, making both of them start and turn around. "As am I." It's the same man who stared at her in the street a week ago, standing casually in the doorway, eyes raking over both of them, something like a smirk twisting one corner of his mouth. She lets herself take in the clearly expensive suit, the blue eyes that give her a deliberately slow up and down look that sends heat creeping up her neck, and draws herself to her full height as he approaches them, trying to project authority into every inch of her body despite not wearing her Scarlet Witch make-up or costume.

At least the attitude can be worn like armour, as she tosses her hair back over her shoulder and puts her hands to her hips - which has the advantage of pulling her simple T-shirt down a little, displaying just enough skin that his eyes briefly drop away from her face, allowing her to gather her wits once more, shaking off the surprise of his entrance. "And who are you?" she asks, injecting a little of the Scarlet Witch's seductive manner into her tone, playing with her prey.

"My name is Vision. I am here on behalf of HYDRA," he says, and she steps back, disgust curling her lip, Pietro's hand protectively clasping over her shoulder. "Myself and my fellow heads are interested in having your talents on our side."

"We're not interested," Pietro snaps, lips drawn back in a slight snarl, and she links her fingers through his and stares Vision down, ignoring the excitement in the pit of her stomach and her pulse beating a little faster the longer she looks at him.

"You two were meant for more than brainwashing New Yorkers into fighting you in the basements of abandoned hotels," Vision says, his accent refining the words in a way that makes her stomach twist into a tight knot.

"Yes, by Wolfgang Strucker, who your fellow heads ejected from HYDRA and refused to help," she snarls, frustration at her own reaction to him making anger easier to lace through her words. "He would still be alive if HYDRA had responded to his distress call."

"It was irresponsible of him to keep you to himself, Ms. Maximoff," he says, stepping closer, and she tries to ignore that the way his lips shape her name has heat flickering between her thighs. "You were made to be a part of the new world order."

"He was like family," Pietro snaps, words all fire and anger and the hidden pain of loss. "HYDRA abandoned him. We will never join you."

"You will," Vision says, all arrogance and a smirk on his lips and a cockiness that Wanda is frustrated to be so drawn to. "Take a few days, think it over. You do not want to make enemies of us."

"That's exactly what we want," she snaps at him, and he looks at her for a moment too long, as she tries to project a belligerent mask and not allow a single hint of the conflict between her logic and her sex drive to creep through.

"You should not presume that you will be able to take us on, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and turns away, disappearing up the stairs and out of sight.

Pietro breathes out, long and harsh, and releases his vice-like grip on her shoulder. "We better go find something inanimate I can punch really hard without breaking," he says, scowling into the air and kicking at the floor. He looks at her, and concern fills his eyes, his hands gripping her shoulders, his gaze searching her face. "Are you alright? You're shaking."

"I'm fine," she says brusquely. "But I could do with punching something too." Pietro smiles, kisses her forehead, and moves to shrug back into his hoodie, allowing her a brief moment of privacy to breath in and push the heat of arousal that Vision awoke in her deep down, to be dealt with at a later date.


	3. the intricacies of reputation

**A/N:** Hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please let me know if you're enjoying this AU, it's very much a departure from my comfort zone when writing for these two and comments make my day!

* * *

 

"Vision." Pierce's familiar voice, smooth and unwavering, the voice of a man who knows his own power, pulls Vision from a meandering train of thought that thoroughly distracted him from the meeting at hand, the bland faces of the heads of HYDRA all turned towards him. Pushing away the memory of a young woman with anger in her eyes and something of an alluring quality to her, he looks to Pierce and the expectant postures of the others in the room. "Report on the Maximoff twins, if you please. Were you able to bring them over to us?"

"Not yet, sir," he says, and Pierce's eyes momentarily freeze with chilling anger, the charming effusive persona he dons in meetings cracking for a split second. "It appears that they are far more loyal to Strucker's memory that we believed."

"And what does that mean?" Malick asks, tone thick with contempt, and Vision refrains from turning too obvious a glare at him. From the way other heads shift in their seats and shuffle papers whenever Malick opens his mouth to speak, it's clear that he is not the only one who grows tired of Malick's position on their council. He has heard Bloom remarking that it is high time Malick's daughter stepped into her father's chair and the fool left them - information that Vision keeps in his mind, prepared for the coup he intends to orchestrate further down the line.

"It means, Gideon, that when I confronted them and asked them to become loyal to HYDRA they said that Strucker was like family to them and they would never join HYDRA after he was abandoned," he says, just managing to keep his voice on the razor-sharp edge between polite and contemptuous. "I left them with a warning that they should not seek to make enemies of HYDRA and time to think our offer over."

"Well, that settles it," Malick says, lip curling over the words. "We should pass this duty over to the intelligence agents. Perhaps allow for them to simply capture the Maximoffs. If the great and powerful Vision was unable to persuade them to our side-"

"Oh do shut up, Gideon," the Baroness says, and there's a murmur around the table, Malick looking thunderous but quieting nevertheless. "We were hasty in removing Wolfgang from his seat, we all understand that now. Sending more of our agents to speak with the twins is not going to achieve anything. We'll simply end up with the twins becoming less and less likely to ever say yes. I think that Vision's decision to warn them and leave them to stew was an excellent idea. A move worthy of a head of HYDRA." She gives Vision the slightest smile, and he has to hold back a smile of his own, simply acknowledging her support with a nod.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Malick asks, an obvious attempt to rebalance the power of the room but the undoubtedly weakest head, the one in the most precarious position. "We can't have two such powerful individuals running around free of any organisation. What if they were to decide tomorrow to join SHIELD and become Avengers?"

"It's as if you haven't been listening to a word we've said in these meetings, Gideon," Vision says coolly, and refuses to allow the smug satisfaction to show on his face at how unseated Malick looks. "The Maximoff will not be joining SHIELD as long as Tony Stark is there. Their hatred for him outstrips their hatred for HYDRA. Though they believe we should have done more to help Strucker in his final days, Stark was the reason behind their parents being killed and the one they consider to have led to Strucker's suicide. You are allowing yourself to be defined by your fears."

"Gideon is right," Pierce says, taking hold of his authority once more, the table falling silent in the familiar mixture of fear and respect. "We can't have the Maximoffs running around looking for revenge on both HYDRA and the Avengers. They are powerful enough to pose a threat to us. Vision, I assume you will be able to continue tracking them?"

"I have already been following their movements since I left them with this decision," he says, determinedly not thinking about the real reason behind his continued tracking of the Maximoffs - the reason that has far less to do with bringing them into the arms of HYDRA than he would like to acknowledge.

"Excellent," Pierce says. "So you will continue in this mission. Allow them to sit with this decision. Make sure to remind them of who we are and the power we hold. Be sure that they understand that we can make life exceedingly difficult for them." There's a darkness to his voice that makes some small part of Vision recoil in fear, that brings doubts surging to the surface on whether he will truly ever be able to break Pierce's grip on HYDRA and take his power for his own.

But of course he won't let that show. Won't let his expression shift the tiniest amount from the mask of cool confidence. He simply says, "Of course, sir."

Returning to his office, he opens the door to a crash from inside and a startled Forbes scrambling away from the computer, straightening his coffee-stained tie. "I'm sorry, sir, I thought you would be in your meeting a few minutes longer," he says, voice strained and face blotchy with nerves.

Rounding the corner of his desk, watching Forbes stagger away from him in fear, Vision looks at the screen and raises an eyebrow at the young man. "So this is how you spend your downtime, Forbes?" he asks. "Looking up meanings of flowers?"

"I just thought it would be interesting," Forbes says, but at one piercing look from Vision he slumps in defeat. "There's this girl. I met her online, and we're going out for drinks this weekend. I wanted to take her flowers, but I was looking for some with an appropriate meeting."

"Roses are a classic flower for a reason," Vision tells him, and the gratitude in Forbes' eyes clenches at his heart, the way the young man heeds his advice so different from any other treatment from his men. "Yellow, I believe, is a symbol for friendship. Perhaps that is the place to start." He glances at the page himself, eyes moving over the enormous number of flowers which represent love at every stage, until he finds himself drawn to one entry, his mind straying unbidden to Wanda Maximoff, green eyes flashing with anger, so much power contained in one woman.

The bar that night provides little solace from his current state of turmoil. Every woman who looks at him from across the gloom or tries to speak with him over the beat of the music reminds him of Wanda in some way. One has her green eyes, another her dark hair, another her legs. He takes the green-eyed woman home with him, pretends that he doesn't imagine that her dyed-red hair is darker spilling across his sheets, determinedly doesn't allow himself to think of any woman but the one who arches her back beneath him and drags her nails down his back.

But while she sleeps, he wipes her lipstick from his mouth and leaves her alone in his bed, and places an order from the nearest florist, to be delivered to the address he's been watching himself, waiting for a glimpse of the young woman in her dark dresses who has forced her way into his mind and doesn't appear to be prepared to leave.

An orange lily. Desire. Hatred. Because, yes, he can't help but hate her. Hate what they stand for, their rebelling against both SHIELD and HYDRA, the rebellion he was not brave enough to face. Hate that she has found her way into his being, become what he thinks of when the night is dark and his thoughts have nowhere to go but her.

And he wants her. A bone-deep want, a way he has never wanted any other woman. Of the many he has taken to bed, watched leave the mansion with marks on their collarbones and sleepy satisfaction in their smiles, none have awakened a need in him the way Wanda Maximoff has. He must bring her to HYDRA's side. And, perhaps, it is his want for her that will be the path which leads to achieving that.

* * *

The apartment door slamming closed has Wanda jerking upright and awake, swinging her legs out of bed and pulling one of Pietro's hoodies over her bare arms. Opening her bedroom door, she can't help but roll her eyes when she finds Pietro collapsed in a heap on the couch, still in the clothes he left in the night before and smelling distinctly of vodka even from the other side of the room. "You know, if you have to stay out all night you could at least try to come home quietly," she says, and he grins at her, glassy-eyed. "The responsible sibling in this relationship needs to sleep."

"You never let me sleep when you would stay out all night screwing Werner," he says, toeing off his shoes and stretching until his back audibly cracks. "Karma is a bitch, sister dear."

"Have you forgotten that you would wait up for me whenever I went out with Werner?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow at him and helping herself to the last of the orange juice.

"Semantics," he says, waving an airy hand, and she laughs into her glass and crosses the room to sit next to him, eyeing a wine stain on his shirt and the distinct shadow of a hickey disappearing beneath his collar. "Can we order pizza for breakfast?"

"Absolutely not, we have food and Werner's money for this month won't be here until next week, we have to be careful," she says sternly. "You need to go to bed."

"I need to eat," he says, and pulls a wad of bills from his pocket that she stares at open-mouthed, coming dangerously close to dropping her glass and staining the upholstery. "See, money. So I'm going to order a pizza, which you can choose to eat or not, and tonight we're going for a drink."

"Where the hell did you get that, Pietro?!" she asks, and he smirks at her.

"Well, I was thinking that it's not fair that all of our financial support is because you worked hard and carried on a relationship with Werner von Strucker for six months, because I'm your brother and I'm the oldest and I should be looking after you, not the other way round," he says around a yawn, eyes focused on the laptop screen and ordering in his breakfast. "So I thought that I could do that too. Not with Werner, obviously, he's still completely in love with you, but there's no shortage of people our age with too much money and no one to spend it on in Manhattan. And I managed to get picked up by an heiress to some internet business fortune last night. Easy money!"

Taking the money in her own hand, feeling the satisfying weight of it, Wanda's mouth curls into a smirk and she says, "Sleeping with Werner really wasn't hard work, you know."

"I do _not_ need the details of your relationship with him, I can guess at them given he was completely in love with you by the end of it all," Pietro says, faking an exaggerated shudder, and she smiles innocently at him. "You want anything while I'm ordering?"

"Fine, get me some garlic bread," she says, and he grins at her. "And go shower while we're waiting for the delivery, you smell like a bar."

The buzzer sounds while the shower is running, not loud enough to drown out Pietro's singing, and she smiles to herself as she pulls a twenty from the wad of cash sitting on their end table and opens the door to the sleepy eyes and faintly irritated expression of the delivery man, two boxes in one hand and a flower in the other. "This was outside your door," he says, and exchanges it for the twenty in her hand, seemingly oblivious to her shock.

When Pietro returns, changed into pyjamas and rubbing his hair dry, he finds her sitting on the couch, pizza boxes waiting on the table in front of her, twisting the orange lily between her hands, running her fingers gently over the smooth curves of the petals. "Where'd you get that?" he asks, sitting down heavily next to her and opening the pizza box, tearing off an enormous slice and looking at her in expectant anticipation.

"It was outside the door," she says softly, her thoughts far away and wondering. "The delivery guy handed it to me."

"So who's it from?" he asks. "No, don't tell me. Some random you slept with wants to get together again even though you made it clear it was a one time thing."

"You know I've not slept with anyone since we got to Manhattan," she says, finally setting the flower down on the table and reaching for her garlic bread.

"Probably Werner, then," Pietro says, almost cheerfully. "He must've found another safe house that SHIELD won't get to for a few weeks yet. We're currently their priority." He shifts on the couch, tears off another pizza slice, and asks, "So, what are we going to do now that HYDRA's looking for us?"

Tucking her feet beneath her, Wanda lets the long silence hold, thoughts straying back to Vision confronting them, back to the jolts of arousal that she hasn't been able to stop thinking about despite the days that have mounted up since, even though she knows that what's important is to plan a way to get HYDRA away from them and not to even think of indulging her late-night considerations of seducing Vision. He is a head of HYDRA, the organisation that allowed Wolfgang to end his life before the Avengers could do it for him rather than sending in help. He always told them that HYDRA looks at people and sees only assets, what they can do to aid the organisation is reaching the level of power they've been striving for since Johann Schmidt reestablished them during the war. Alexander Pierce would never have looked at them and seen people, not the way Wolfgang did. Had they gone to HYDRA, they would've been just two more soldiers, albeit more powerful than all of the others. There is no way of knowing if HYDRA coming to them now is with a different intention.

"They can't have sent that guy out to find us for any good reason," Pietro says, echoing her thoughts, and she silently nods, paying more attention to her food than the conversation and definitely not allowing her thoughts to stray to the memory of Vision that stands perfectly preserved in her mind's eyes, rising unbidden to the surface whenever she tries to sleep. "What did he say his name was?"

"Vision," she answers quietly, and if Pietro notices any quiver to her voice he doesn't point it out, leaving her to tear off a corner of his pizza with far more ferocity than necessary and not think about broad shoulders and blue eyes.

"Right," Pietro says, and chews contemplatively for a moment. "I've never heard the name. Don't you think that's strange? Wolfgang told us the names of all the heads of HYDRA and the important soldiers, or Werner let them slip while you were seducing him." He grins when she reaches over to slap at him, shoving her away and continuing, "Maybe he was lying. Did you look into his mind?"

"No, I...I didn't think of that," she says, the excuse tripping off her tongue. "It all happened so fast."

"Well, it shouldn't be hard to find a low-level HYDRA operative and find out if he was lying," Pietro says, seemingly oblivious to the way Wanda shifts, the memory cycling through her mind once again. "It's easy to tell a pair of strangers that you work for HYDRA and try to scare them. He could be anyone."

"Most of the low-level HYDRA operatives around here drink at the same bar," she says, springing into action to distract herself, pushing all her less-than-innocent thoughts away. "Maybe we should pay them a visit. Get some information."

She wears the Scarlet Witch like a costume walking out of the apartment, Pietro protectively at her side, leaving so much behind when they lock the door and slipping into the guise of the seductive sorceress that the dark corners of the Internet are beginning to warn of, the woman the media believes her to be. The bar HYDRA operatives are rumoured to drink in is, naturally, tucked away down a side street with peeling paint and a rusty sign swinging in the autumn breeze that snatches at her skirt, dark inside and humming with conversations from the patrons.

Pietro disappears momentarily, and is almost immediately back at her side, handing her a drink and casting suspicious eyes around the room. "Are you getting anything?" he asks, and she casts out a web of telepathy as she takes a long sip of her drink, searching for anything in the slightly intoxicated minds that could help them.

"Him," she says, and indicates a thin-faced man of around their own age, nervous eyes darting around the room, sitting alone in one of the shadowy corners. In his mind, she hears whispers of HYDRA behind all the nerves that quiver through his thoughts, and Pietro hides himself in one of the booths with the imitation leather peeling from the seats as she approaches the man, toying with her mother's wedding rings on its chain around her neck.

"Hi," she says, the man's gaze darting up to meets hers, his eyes going momentarily wide. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Oh, no," he says, almost immediately, and part of her bristles angrily at the obstacle. "You're very kind, but I'm actually on a date."

"Come on," she says, almost purrs, and stretches a leg out beneath the table to brush her foot against his ankle, lips curling into a smirk as he starts and a blush creeps into his cheeks. "Just one drink. I don't bite." She watches him raise his wine glass to his lips, the stem trembling slightly in his shaking hand, and smirks when he chokes and splutters at her added, "Unless you want me to."

"I'm not interested," he says again, and she rolls her eyes and scarlet spirals over her fingers, a quick dart out across the table, turning his eyes red and his posture stiff, his gaze focused wholly on her.

"I just want to talk," she says, and slides out of the corner, the man following her like a dog to a master. She leads him out of the back door of the bar and into a dingy courtyard, a single metal chair turned over in the mud and the rain beginning to fall, and turns to him with a smile, releasing her grip on him and enjoying how the terror overtakes his face as he comes back to himself. "You work for HYDRA, don't you?"

"You're the Scarlet Witch," he says, voice tremulous with fear, and she smiles angelically at him, weaving scarlet magic around her fingers to see the reflection in his terrified eyes. "Get away from me!"

"I wouldn't try running if I were you," comes Pietro's voice, the door back into the bar slamming shut behind him, a refilled glass in his hand and a smirk on his lips. "You're going to tell us what we want to know."

"Or what?" the man spits, a little of the fire that HYDRA operatives all claim to have flashing through his eyes, and Wanda quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Then I find out for myself," she says, darkness woven through her words, taking a step closer to him and beaming with pride when he staggers backwards on weak legs, crashing against the wall and sinking his weight into it. "We'll start with an easy question. What's your name and what do you do for HYDRA?"

"I...My name is Forbes, Timothy Forbes," he says, voice growing a little stronger, the fear draining out of him, and she folds her arms and waits to hear what she wants to know, leaving it to Pietro to guard the door and intimidate. "I'm one of the soldiers, only finished training a few months ago. I'm currently assigned to patrol and guard the mansion of one of the heads."

"Which head?" Pietro asks, voice rough and angry, the intimidating factor he always turns up when they're investigating the leads on any of the many people they want to see defeated.

"Vision," Forbes says, and drops his gaze, and Wanda is grateful that neither man notices the way her breath catches in her throat. "He's the newest person to be made a head, I was assigned to watch over him when I finished my training."

"Tell us about him," Wanda says, perhaps a little too quickly, but her mask is still in place and Forbes stares at her stubbornly before she sends a flash of red illuminating the courtyard, and he starts violently and clears his throat.

"Pierce put him on the council to replace Strucker, gave him money and the mansion and power. Nothing happens in Manhattan without Vision knowing about it. He killed Bruce Banner." Pietro chokes on his drink at that, and Wanda fights to hide her surprise, trying to link the man who confronted them and stared at her in a way that still makes her heart beat a little faster with Bruce Banner's mysterious killer. "He's got himself a reputation already. Has this crazy rivalry with another head, Gideon Malick, they're always at odds. If you ask me, I think Malick's just jealous that Vision is newer to the table and gets all the admiration and power and women."

"So where does your boss live?" Wanda asks, and Forbes stares her down, eyes hard. "Come on. You can tell us."

"I won't," he says, the bite behind his words momentarily startling. "Because you'll try to kill him. HYDRA would be good for you. They'd help you."

"Is that what they write in the recruitment pamphlets?" she asks idly. "So, what will you tell your boss when he asks why you're marked?" Fear fills Forbes' face again, as the brightness of the scarlet curving around her hand increases, and a dart of red flashes against his arm, leaving a vivid line of red behind. "You're going to tell him that it's a calling card. Tell him that the Scarlet Witch wants to talk to him."

Leaving the young man trembling in the courtyard, she walks away, Pietro throwing his empty glass into the darkness with the crash of shattering glass and running after her. "Why didn't you just kill him?!" he asks incredulously. "Now he can go back to HYDRA and tell them about us!"

"Nothing they don't already know," she says, ignoring her brother's mutinous expression and the rain cold against her skin, the puddles splashing dirty water over her shoes as she storms off through the streets, thinking about the confrontation, the obstacles they are facing, and definitely not about what Forbes said about Vision and women. Definitely not focusing on that.

* * *

Vision wakes up alone, the sheets next to him cold, and takes a moment to be grateful that the woman who approached him in the bar last night with a gleam in her eyes has already left. She was rather disturbingly like Wanda, the same spill of dark hair and long legs, and encouraged thoughts he'd rather leave in the depths of his mind. His fascination with the Scarlet Witch and the woman hiding behind the crackling crimson and seductive glances from beneath dark lashes has only increased since Forbes returned to the mansion shaken, soaking wet and showing off a vivid bruise on one arm, all nervous twitching and darting eyes as he confided that he'd seen the twins, that they'd dragged him out of the back of a bar and demanded information.

It's an interesting development, that the twins have been seeking information on him while he resists Pierce's pushing to return to the campaign to have them join HYDRA's ranks. From the way Forbes told the tale of his encounter with the two, he made it seem as if it was Wanda who pushed for information, asking further questions, and that Pietro stands as the angrier of the two. The thought allows indulgence, a momentary fantasy, a brief flash of wondering if she is as drawn to him as he is to her.

But he can't believe that, looking at himself in the mirror as he knots his tie and smooths the silk, seeing the mind stone swarming with darkness, his skin almost the same colour as the magic she weaves into the air, the inhuman brightness of his eyes. They are two people who have somehow learned the tactics of criminals in an unnervingly short space of time, asking the questions they need the answers for. It cannot possibly be that she is pushing for information because of any fascination with him. He will be the one to open that door, to draw her in as he has so many other women, make her biddable and draw her into HYDRA's web. She is a force to be reckoned with, a power he wants with HYDRA to keep to his advantage when he tries to wrest control from Pierce.

For once, there is no message waiting for him from Pierce, another demand that he return to the twins and bring them to the council by any means necessary. He will not harm them, that much he has decided. And it has nothing to do with his mind's disturbing tendency to favour straying to thoughts of Wanda in moments in idleness, and everything to do with not wishing to injure either of them in a way that might affect their powers and their usefulness to HYDRA. It is all in the name of thinking like a head would, no matter how Malick needles at him, continues to boldly state in meetings that Vision is not worthy of his position, that there are hundreds of others within HYDRA's ranks that were more deserving to be promoted into Strucker's position after he was ejected from the council.

Manhattan is misty with rain, filled with the hum of people crossing the streets to get from place to place, going through life without having to hide their true self behind a mask. No one even looks at him, just another man weaving through the crowds with a black umbrella shielding him from the rain and an expensive suit, and he wonders what life might have been like had Strucker constructed a more human-appearing body for him. If he could have a life in the city, without having to wear another face.

No matter the direction of his thoughts, his feet guide him in the direction of the apartment building the Maximoffs live in, to the rooftop he would normally stay on to watch for any movement, see Pietro's distinctive silver hair for a brief moment before he'd cover it with hood or hat, or feel the pull like a magnet whenever he'd catch a glimpse of Wanda leaving or returning to the apartment. Rather than ascend to a height when nothing but the wind and the birds exists to keep him company, he simply phases through the door to the building, ascending the stairs to the twins' apartment.

His knock, the politest way possible and not what anyone would expect from a head of HYDRA, is answered by a sleep-rumpled Pietro, who stares at him for a moment before his mouth curls into a smirk. "I see you found our calling card," he says, and turns back into the apartment to call, "Wanda! You were right, not killing that guy worked!"

Vision's breath briefly catches when Wanda emerges from what is presumably her bedroom, her expression of annoyance settling into triumph when she meets his eyes, an up-and-down flicker of a look that she gives him making heat creep up the back of his neck. He can't help but see how she wears the Scarlet Witch, even without the make-up and clothes he's seen in grainy security footage, seduction in the sinuous sway of her hips and the glances she gives him from beneath her lashes, despite the fact that she's wearing grey shorts, frayed at the hem and an oversized T-shirt rather than her usual short skirts and low necklines, the only adornment a gold ring on a chain around her neck. "And what are you doing here, Vision?" she asks, and he ignores the flicker of arousal that hearing her say his name causes, pushes away the image that begins to form at the back of his mind of her beneath him, crying out his name. "I thought we made it very clear - we're not interested. Do I have to mark up another one of your henchmen?"

"You left a message with Forbes, Ms. Maximoff," he replies, and the triumphant gleam in her eyes becomes even brighter, her smirk jolting him before he can shake it off. "You wanted to talk. My belief is that you have thought about my offer, and have realised that it would be a wise decision to join HYDRA."

"Perhaps I just wanted to see your face," she says, a wickedness shadowing her words, the flirtation as obvious as a hand creeping over his shoulder in a bar, familiar. Yet he still feels as if he cannot find his footing with this woman, that she is changeable in a way that is dangerous and yet exciting, with her eyes gleaming and even her posture luring him to come closer.

"You should understand, Ms. Maximoff, that what you did was an act of aggression towards HYDRA," he says. "It was provocation towards violence, if myself and my men were so inclined."

"I wanted to provoke you," she says, and the words work their way into his mind, making him think of a different kind of provocation, of pushing this storm of a woman down onto his bed and kissing the triumphant smirk from her face and fucking her until her way with words is nothing but gasps and moans. "Did you come here to fight us, Vision?"

"Not at all, Ms. Maximoff," he says. "I bring only a warning. You have made it painfully clear that you do not wish to join HYDRA. If you will not change your mind, I will not hesitate in taking you down, and neither will any other operative of our organisation. It would be a shame for a woman of your," he allows his eyes to flicker over her, as much to unseat her as it is to greedily drink in every inch of her body, to add further detail to the slowly developing fantasy that lingers at the back of his mind, "talents to go to waste. You should think hard about this decision."

"I have," she says, looking at him with a direct gaze, hard as steel, sure of herself. "And I won't join an organisation just because someone who is hiding so much of who they are asked me to." Something on his face must change to match the way his mind recoils and cold clenches at his chest, because she smiles and says, "Yes, I can feel it. I don't have to be in your mind to know that you're scared. That you're lying to me, just by standing there."

"That's none of your concern, Ms. Maximoff," he says, trying to brazen it out, not to let her knowledge of his secret deter him from what he came here to do, but she still stares at him unnervingly, as if she can see into his darkest thoughts without even needing to use her powers.

"It is, Vision, if you're going to demand that I join HYDRA and yet still stand there without showing me who you really are," she says, and he cannot find a flaw in her words. He understands her reasoning, but fear grips his mind, the knowledge that the world does not take kindly to how he looks, the reason he wears the disguise at all. "Show me."

Something about her words is more commanding than if she had invaded his mind and forced him to do it. Gone is the seduction, the teasing, leaving something genuine, something curious, something that a lesser mind than his could mistake for compassion. He makes the split-second decision and feels the mind stone heat slightly as the disguise fades away, watches her expression change from the smugness of the entire conversation to nothing short of pure shock. It's the reaction he fears, the reason the disguise stays in place with everyone outside of HYDRA, her disgust playing out in the twitch of her mouth and the new emotion that flashes across her eyes, the way her arm jerks around herself.

"Holy shit," comes a breath, and Vision's gaze jerks to Pietro, who he had half-forgotten was in the room during the conversation with Wanda. "You. You're Wolfgang's experiment. He had sketches. The mind stone and the vibranium and that weird cradle he stole from a lab in Korea."

"You were his vision," Wanda says, her gaze darting everywhere but him, a fact that makes him far more disappointed than he should be. "Why is the mind stone black now?"

"It's not for you to know," Vision spits, trying to take back the power in the situation, despite feeling exposed and terrified, knowing that even these two with their powers reject him. It stings, from the man whose hair turned silver and the woman who could rewrite reality with a word if he chose to, to still be the odd one out, to still not have a place in the world. "Mr. Maximoff, Ms. Maximoff, goodbye. I hope you will think about this issue more and make the right decision for everyone involved."

He turns to leave, finally allowing his cool expression to crack, to show a little of the sadness that is swelling through his chest, but is pulled back by a rush of scarlet magic. Wanda still stands away from him, but the shock has gone from her face, and she runs a hand through her hair and gives him another lingering look that sends heat bouncing through his veins. "You know, it's too bad that you work for the organisation I want to see brought down in flames," she says, an almost angelic tone to her words, syrupy sweetness and accompanied by a smile and a tilted head.

"And why is that, Ms. Maximoff?" he asks, playing along, once again drawn to her, as her green eyes glint in delight and her hands settle on her hips.

"Red always was my favourite colour."

* * *

A Sokovian swear word slips from her lips as her hair elastic snaps back against her wrist, the last one from the packet she could've sworn she only bought a few weeks ago, twenty elastics all now lost to the dust or resigned to the bottom of the trash. "Leave it," Pietro says, sat on the edge of the bed lacing up his new trainers, smugly purchased with one of the wads of cash he's been collecting by sleeping with heirs and heiresses to fortunes. "You don't need to tie your hair up to go scare the shit out of some HYDRA goons."

"So how did you find out about this training centre?" she asks him, leaning closer to the mirror to flick a lump of dried mascara away from her eye, briefly looking at herself as someone else would, the Scarlet Witch gazing out of the fingerprint-smudged glass.

"Followed a pair of men I heard talking about Malick down a few side streets and watched them walk inside," he answers, running a hand through his hair and reaching for his leather jacket, another recent purchase. Impractical, but it does lend gravity to his image as the newest supervillain on the scene. "So what's the plan?"

"Show HYDRA that continuing to send people after us in an attempt to pressure us into joining them isn't going to work," she says, experimentally shooting a dart of red at the lamp in the corner and smiling as it rises a clear foot from the floor before descending back down. "Possibly murder a few goons in the process. Try to destroy the building so they lose their training centre." She turns to face Pietro, all obvious nervous energy and hatred smouldering in his eyes. "Promise me you won't stick close to me. We have to split up to destroy the base. I'll make my way to the centre of it all and collapse it from the inside out. You get to kill any operatives we find."

"If you're going to insist that we split up, I'm insisting you take these," Pietro says, reaching under the couch and pulling out an unmarked black shoebox. A chill shudders down Wanda's spine when he opens the lid to reveal two gleaming pistols and two highly-polished knives, and she watches him take one of each in each hand and hold them out to her.

"I can protect myself, Pietro," she says quietly, but he presses the weapons into her hands, curling her fingers over them.

"I'd feel better if you kept these," he says. "Look, you can just shove them in your boots, but it's worth having them." Despite her reservations, the concern in his eyes is too much to resist, and she takes the knife and gun. When he turns his back, she stows them both under a couch cushion, resolving never to use them.

The building that Pietro insists is a HYDRA training base is hidden away in a neighbourhood of boarded-up shops and smashed windows, graffiti scrawled across the moss-thick grey walls and the door splintered on its hinges. "I guess luxury is only for heads of HYDRA," Pietro remarks, and she bites at her lip, nervously noting the gleam of silver at his hip from the pistol in his holster.

Behind the splintered door, they find an advanced security system leading down an empty corridor, and a simple jet of scarlet fries the electrics, the cameras installed in the walls powering down with a whining hum, and Wanda curls her hands into fists to hide that her fingers are shaking. "Go," she says, and doesn't look at Pietro, not wanting to see the concern she knows will be in his eyes, the reluctance to separate. "Get rid of anyone in here, then get out. I'm going to collapse it, you can't still be in here when I do. I can't protect you if you're not right next to me."

"So if I get stuck, I'll find my way to you, no problem," he says, and she can't help a brief smile when she feels him drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Good luck."

She feels the rush of wind as he speeds away, blowing her hair back over her shoulders, and turns away into her own missions, heels clicking on the hard floor as she explores the sharply-angled corridors of the base, all angled downwards, spiralling further into the underground. That's how HYDRA maintains its power, existing just under the skin of every major city in the US, masking themselves with tumbledown exteriors and people no one would look twice at on a bus street, young soldiers who die while the heads remain in their mansions and orchestrate everything like marionettes clinging to a thousand strings.

Some part of her mind, hidden at the back and swathed in shadows and cobwebs, tells her that it's not a fair assumption. Of course, Alexander Pierce stays in his mansion while the world revolves around him. But Wolfgang worked hard, creating his weapons and always striving to something bigger and brighter and better. And she knows first-hand that Vision doesn't stay in his mansion and allow soldiers to do everything for him, but goes out into the field and confronts HYDRA's enemies. She is one of HYDRA's enemies now, walking through one of their training abilities unopposed and prepared to collapse the entire organisation, and that thought sends pride singing through her veins. Officially considered an enemy of HYDRA and an enemy of SHIELD. Hunted by both, but never found.

Following the sharp turns of the eerily silent corridors, navigating only by the sense that she's going in the right direction and how the paths appear to be converging, heading steeply downwards, her thoughts stray of their own accord to Vision. Not him as the head of HYDRA, but him as the man she briefly saw, the one who stood in their apartment and let a mask fade away. The mind stone turned to black in the centre of his forehead, gears ticking behind his startlingly blue eyes, red skin plated with vibranium that disappeared beneath the cut of his clothes.

In the increasing nights she's been spending alone - Pietro spending his time in bars where the drinks are overpriced and the people proclaim loudly about the luxurious resorts they're spending Christmas and New Year's in, drinking themselves insensible to hide how unsatisfying their lives are, going home with the richest unsuspecting person to make eyes at him and returning home with another wad of dollar bills - her thoughts often stray to wondering if it would feel different to be close to Vision. If his body would be different from that of the boys and men she's pressed against before. How he would respond if she traced her fingers down the edges of the metal plates she remembers from seeing Wolfgang's designs and listening to his excited, breathless descriptions of the new weapon he was creating. If the way he's looked at her means anything or is just another tactic employed to unsteady her, the way she does with other men.

She slips on the unsteady ground, the rainwater having reached even this far down after endless days of autumn dreariness, corrects herself and resolves not to think about it any longer. It won't do her any good to let her fantasies linger on a head of HYDRA, to allow her imagination to run away with itself each time she slips a hand between her legs while alone in her bedroom. There is only this mission, and the next, and the next, the ultimate aim of taking down both SHIELD and HYDRA, finding a way to mould the world the way she wants, allowing for them to reach for freedom and grasp it with both hands, free of everything for the first time since their parents were killed.

"Good evening, Ms. Maximoff." The voice startles her out of her train of thought, and a flush steals up her neck when she makes eye contact with Vision, also standing at the bottom of the twisting corridors that have brought her to the centre of the building. Disappointment swells up in her chest at seeing him hidden under that human disguise once again, and she tosses her hair and affects the usual seductive expression, the thought occurring that this is the first time he has seen her fully steeped into the Scarlet Witch role, with her short skirt and low neckline and layers of jewellery.

"Good evening to you, Vision," she says, unafraid, taking the last step from the slope of the corridor to even ground. They're standing in what appears to be a small office, a bare lightbulb flickering with every swing from the dingy ceiling, a desk shoved into a corner and a phone mounted into the wall. "How precisely did you manage to find me?"

"I was informed Forbes told you nothing happens in Manhattan without me knowing about it," he says, and she tries to focus on the words he's saying rather than the way his voice sends sparks of heat skittering down her spine. "Alarms sounded to me and my men the moment you shut down the security system here. Your brother has already dispatched the young soldiers who were training here."

"Then why aren't you out there chasing him?" she asks, adding a sneer to her words, one that frustratingly doesn't change his expression of superiority.

"Because, Ms. Maximoff, it's you I wish to speak with," he says, and she allows her lips to curl into a smirk, satisfied in his slip that means Pietro has already escaped, that she can collapse the building without fear of hurting the only person she has left in the world.

"Vision, really, if you want to speak candidly then I don't want to see you standing here in disguise," she says, and sees the way he falters, his arrogance briefly splintering away to reveal a vulnerability beneath that flashes through his eyes. "I was to see you the way your friends in HYDRA do."

The silence stretches between them, thick with tension so palatable she can almost taste it, electricity in the air, before his disguise fades, and she once again feels her heartbeat grow faster as she takes in his true appearance. It undeniably makes him more vulnerable in front of her, and she's surprised to find how much that fact satisfies her. "Perfect," she breathes, and the momentary nervousness in his expression fades away in the wake of a smirk.

"To business, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and moves closer, and she is simultaneously afraid as her eyes stray to the mind stone, the darkness twisting inside it and the power she knows it holds, and helplessly drawn to him, her heart pounding against her ribs. "With all due respect to your brother, he is simply not as powerful as you. I believe that my superiors would be willing to overlook him if you were to simply come with me and take your place within HYDRA."

"Really?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at him. "Your superiors aren't interested in the matching set?"

"Your brother could provide a runner faster than any of our soldiers, that is true," Vision says, moving closer once again. "But really, he is simply an angry young man, and there are already too many of those within HYDRA's ranks. No, what HYDRA truly needs is a young woman such as yourself, Ms. Maximoff. You are too powerful to throw yourself away on petty crime and allowing your brother to underestimate you."

"He does _not_ underestimate me," she snaps, refusing to acknowledge that Vision approaches a subject she considers herself sometimes, each time Pietro lingers a little too close to her side or jeopardises a plan to turn back for her. "And I'm not throwing myself away on petty crime. We have much greater aims."

"Yes, I know," Vision says, voice smooth and arrogant and everything she wishes wasn't turning her on. "Killing Tony Stark. Taking down HYDRA. Having the world at your feet. Don't you think HYDRA will help with that?"

"Not if they only want us as soldiers," she spits.

"Perhaps that's not all they want you for," he says, and gives her a look so suggestive her knees briefly tremble, refusing to hold her upright. "You've proven with this attack and your attack on the Avengers that you are capable of strategising. I would be interested in having you on my side, watching over Manhattan and helping me to maintain control. I would protect you from the attentions of other heads."

"I don't need your protection," she snaps. "I can take care of myself. I make my own way in the world and I do what I want."

"Then why haven't you collapsed this building yet?" he asks. "We are the only two living souls here, both capable of protecting ourselves from the blast. Prove yourself, Ms. Maximoff." His gaze levels on hers, a challenge clear in every inch of his face, her heart fluttering wildly and her breath catching in her throat, his voice low and quiet as he adds, "Do it."

She kisses him. Closes the small gap between them and pulls his mouth to hers in a violent surrender, dizzying relief rushing through her at finally giving in. Her fingertips dig into his shoulders, pulling his chest against hers, a soft breath of a groan leaving her lips when he kisses her back, hands at the small of her back and hauling them together, her feet almost leaving the ground. She pulls him with her backwards, colliding them with the desk, and he takes the hint and lifts her onto it, stepping between her legs and kissing her with an intensity she didn't expect, one of his hands in her hair and the other trailing across her side and stomach, making her nerve endings sing even through her clothes.

" _Fuck_ ," she breathes, an almost involuntary reflex as his mouth drops to her neck, teeth and tongue, her head falling back against the rough brick wall and her hand reflexively going to the back of his head, pulling him closer. His hands have moved, on her thighs, fingertips skimming beneath her rucked-up skirt, and there's nothing in her mind but a plea for more, a knowing that the situation is spiralling out of logical control and yet not a single hint of a want to stop. She's wanted Vision since their first meeting, thought of him in so many sinful ways, and to have him pressed against her, his kisses straying tantalisingly close to her neckline and his touch blazing trails across her skin, has her mind focused on nothing but feeling everything, the first time she's been touched by anyone but herself since she ended the fling between her and Werner, who never made her feel like this, so powerful and yet surrendering herself to every touch.

She pulls at him, brings their mouths back together in a bruising kiss, his tongue hot against her own, and reaches up to the buttons on his shirt, hearing one skitter across the floor when she pulls, tracing her fingertips over a plate of vibranium hidden just below his collar and feeling the vibration of his answering groan. His hands drop to her back, jerking her against him, and she feels him hard against the inside of her thigh.

It throws the moment into sharp relief, jerking her mind away from the ecstasy and back into the cold light of reality. Vision is a head of HYDRA, the one who replaced Wolfgang, an important and powerful figure in the organisation she wants to see brought to the ground. Arrogant enough to suggest that she would follow him to find power, leave Pietro in the dust, and she's allowing him to touch her, to run his hands over her breasts and curl fingertips into the hem of her shirt, inching it upwards. "Stop," she says, her voice rough and more of a gasp than the authoritative order she wants to give, but he does stop everything, pulling away from her and looking her in the eyes. She sees that his chest is heaving, that she ripped the top three buttons from his shirt, and hastily looks away. "Get off me."

She shouldn't be shocked that he backs away so quickly, but he does, stepping back and just watching her as she slides down from the desk, pulls her top back down and straightens her skirt and pretends that she isn't completely breathless and she can't feel how hot her face is or the insistent pulse beating between her legs. "Now get out of here," she snaps.

"Wanda-"

"Go!" she shouts, ignoring that he used her first name, that her heart skips to hear him say it, that half of her mind is screaming at her to pull him back in by his loosened tie and let him take her apart. He looks at her only a moment longer before he turns and disappears back into the intricate corridors, and she raises her arms and watches the red twist into beams that worm their way into the brickwork, the ceiling cracking and the building beginning to creak and shake into pieces.

When she emerges from the dust, painted in grey from head to toe, marks on her neck have already begun to darken and her heartbeat is yet to slow and her mind is filled with the way Vision kissed her, hunger and passion and the same bone-deep need to feel her that she has been allowing herself to indulge in for him. Walking home through the rain, running to distract herself from the fire still burning in the pit of her stomach, she tries to push the thoughts away, to focus on the next mission.

But all she thinks about is the sounds he made and his hands on her body and his lips on hers.


	4. heartbeats racing, let's make mistakes

**A/N:** Hello everybody! This would've been a few days earlier but I got distracted by freaking over over the  _Infinity War_ spoilers from D23 and realising that it's actually happening! 

 **Warning for this chapter:** there is an explicit sex scene here. And though it is the first, it will not be the last, and most every chapter will probably have a sex scene from here on out. Such is the nature of this universe and my plans for this fic - so if you are uncomfortable with sexual content, thank you for reading and enjoying this far and I won't begrudge you not continuing to read this fic!

Hope everyone enjoys, and please let me know if you do, since this is the first time I've written anything of an explicit nature with these two!

* * *

 

A disturbed sleep, waking every few hours flushed and tangled in sheets, is finally ended by the slamming of the door and Pietro shouting, "I'm home!" Almost grateful to have a reason to not have to keep chasing sleep filled with dreams of strong hands and soft low groans, Wanda disentangles her legs from the sheets and rolls upright, running fingers through the tangles in her hair and blinking the last grit of sleep away.

Switching on her lamp, she almost winces to see how dark the marks on her neck have become, the slight sting when she presses the pad of her fingertip against one, and she knows she won't be able to lie about their origin. Even if Pietro was naive enough to believe that she'd simply burned herself with a curling iron, the marks are so distinctly mouth-shaped he would look at her the way he would during her relationship with Werner, the slightest smirk and a gleam in his eyes and a teasing comment on the tip of his tongue.

After three layers of concealer standing barely a foot away from the mirror, she's only just refraining from expressing her frustration by throwing the small tube in her hand directly at the glass, as the brightest light she owns shows the marks on her neck, still darkly obvious through layers of make-up. Setting the tube down on her vanity, she allows herself an expressive huff of breath and pulls a barely-worn scarf from her closet, fabric thick enough to disguise the colour of her skin beneath it, and ties it in a neat bow above the neckline of her dress, tugging it each and every way until every mark is thoroughly hidden beneath the slightly iridescent fabric.

The hum of their new coffee maker and the dull buzz of the TV is the familiar sound of morning, Pietro lying across most of the couch in the same clothes he wore to their attack on the HYDRA base, dark shadows emerging beneath his eyes and fingers wrapped tightly around a lifeline of a cup of coffee. "So I heard people in Starbucks talking about a building collapsing in on itself last night," he says, so casual, not looking at her. "How long did that take?"

"You know I lose track of time while I'm working," she says, the words tripping from her tongue in half-formed excuses, her voice pitched a little higher with the lie. "Where were you all night?"

"Oh, the usual," he says, giving her a look of one eyebrow quirked and a gleam in his eye. Both eyebrows rise suddenly when he actually looks at her, and a wicked smirk curls the corner of his mouth. "So where were you all night?"

"Here, sleeping," she says shortly, opening a cabinet for a mug with a wholly unnecessary amount of clattering.

She barely has a chance to even hear the thud of Pietro setting his mug down on the table before he's behind her, tugging at the loose end of her scarf and grinning. "So who's the guy?" he asks, and she slaps a hand over her neck, hiding the marks. "Glad to see you broke your 'I haven't slept with anyone since we got to Manhattan' streak."

"There's no guy," she snaps, aggressively shaking sugar into her coffee.

"Who's the girl, then?" he asks, and anyone without his acceleration powers wouldn't have been able to dodge the apple she sends flying towards his face, which he blurs away to catch and holds out to her with an infuriatingly satisfied smile.

"There's  _no one_ ," she insists, brushing past him and taking his vacated space on the couch.

"You don't want to tell me," he says, apparently ignoring that she's ignoring him, perching on the arm of the couch and looking at her in a way she knows is all concern without even having to look at him. "That's fine."

"Contrary to what you might think, I don't have to tell you everything," she says, and he sighs.

"You don't. I know you don't, you've always had your secrets. But you're my little sister. I have to protect you."

Though he means it in the most sincere way possible, always has ever since he clasped a hand over the bandage holding her sprained wrist while they were shunted from hospital to orphanage after their parents' death and promised he would take care of her with all the force a ten year old could muster, she can't help the twinge of anger that rises at the words. Momentarily, Vision's face swims through her mind, that tense conversation and his offer to take her and her alone into the arms of HYDRA, his easy statement that Pietro underestimates her. When the experiments were over, when their cells no longer echoed floor to ceiling with screams born of the agony the mind stone wrought as it worked its way through their bodies and made them stronger, she awoke with power even she doesn't know the strength of in her, sparking red as blood over her skin, and the whispers of a thousand thoughts in her mind. Somewhere in the depths of her mind, she knows that she could exert so much more of that power than she does, that she could work to understand what she can really do and take all the power the world has to offer for herself.

"You don't have to protect me," she says, her voice low and dangerous, and Pietro has the grace to look contrite. "No one does."

Walking away, slamming her door demonstratively hard, she allows herself a short moment of dreaming, of wondering what could happen if she were to set her rage against HYDRA for abandoning Wolfgang aside and join their ranks. It would be so easy to lay Alexander Pierce and the rest of the arrogant, lazy heads out to be killed or imprisoned at her leisure, to become a head herself and steer the great organisation with its reach and influence in a direction she wants. But she wouldn't. Not without Pietro, and his only feelings towards HYDRA are hatred.

No matter their issues, she wouldn't leave her brother behind. There's no one else left in the world for her, and she is scared of being alone.

* * *

"...absolutely, ridiculously irresponsible, letting this happen in your city!" Pierce's gestures have grown wild over the last half an hour he's spent berating Vision, eyes wild with restrained rage and flecks of spit flying with words that he obviously intends to feel like bullets. But Vision is made of metal and plastic, and the words don't sink into his skin in sharp needles of knowing that he has disappointed someone whose respect he needs, and he simply levels his gaze on his superior, mind somewhere far away from this wood-panelled room in Pierce's mansion. "We can't afford to lose training facilities, we have so few as it is with having to pull in to escape the assaults of the Avengers. I don't know why you keep allowing the Maximoffs to escape, Vision, but if you don't take action against them soon I will be forced to reconsider your position on this council!"

"Sir, with all due respect, HYDRA's usual intimidation tactics will not work on the twins," Vision says, and Pierce stares at him with eyes hard as steel and jaw set so tightly it seems as if it might tear in two. "Wolfgang was able to earn their trust so fully that they are still seeking to avenge his death, and we- I must do the same. I must earn their trust, and if I have to sacrifice men and facilities to do so then I will. We need their power."

Pierce stares at him for a long moment of silence, time seemingly suspended in tension, and Vision stares back, refusing to break first, to be the weak link in this tenacious working relationship. He will not be frightened by Pierce, never has been, and will show that his powerful position is one he deserves. He will not relinquish his task to draw the Maximoffs into HYDRA's web to some other head, or to a team of intelligence agents who will treat the twins like any other mark. Some smaller part of his consciousness, that intrusive moral coding that Banner placed in an attempt to override his base mind, reminds him of the feeling of soft skin warm beneath his fingers and the soft groan at a returned kiss that has played through his mind for days on end. Reminds him that he wouldn't give up on his aims if it would mean having to let Wanda Maximoff get away from him.

"You're right," Pierce says, breaking the silence first, surrendering a winning hand to Vision that he privately feels smugly satisfied over. "Wolfgang never gave us a full report on the strength of their powers. If they realise or already know their own strength, HYDRA will be in imminent danger of being torn apart. But you can't let them continue to destroy our men and our facilities. Word is getting around quickly about bulk fatalities due to these attacks, and recruitment will soon start to drop."

"Sir, with all due respect, HYDRA is flourishing whether recruitment drops or not," Vision says, ignoring the way Pierce bristles at the contradiction. "I wouldn't have come to join your organisation if it wasn't strong enough to hold on to its place in the world. And allowing the twins to succeed in these early missions will actually contribute to their eventual joining of HYDRA. Letting them think they are winning will make them complacent."

"I see," Pierce says, gaze piercing enough that any lesser man would be cringing in his seat out of fear. "But what is your plan, Vision? You know that Gideon has always been wary of you, and others are beginning to doubt your usefulness on the council. If you cannot protect our interests in Manhattan, I won't be able to stop them calling for your ejection."

The silence takes hold again, as it so often does in Vision's dealings with HYDRA operatives, as he briefly thinks on what he can say. It would be a foolish move to tell any of the powerful people he has chosen to surround himself with of his disturbing attraction to Wanda Maximoff, and especially so to tell them what occurred between them in the depths of the facility he is apparently being blacked by other heads for allowing her to destroy. No one can know that his dealings with the twins are influenced by the intricacies of desire.

"I plan on seducing Wanda Maximoff into HYDRA's influence," he says, and Pierce's eyebrows rise in surprise. The strength of the resolve in Vision's voice surprises even him, but the impulsive words work greatly in his favour, and so he continues, "She is the more stubborn of the two, and the more powerful. Were she brought to our side, her overprotective brother would swiftly follow."

"An interesting tactic." Pierce's voice remains as non-committed as usual, but Vision can see the slight gleam in his eyes and feel the intrigue in his thoughts. "You're sure, then, that you would succeed so fully in seducing her that she would lay aside her hatred for HYDRA?"

"Sir, I know you're aware of the rumours the guards in my household spread of my life beyond work," Vision says, and Pierce chuckles, the solemn mask of a meeting breaking momentarily. "I am confident that Ms. Maximoff will not become the first woman to refuse me."

"Then I will inform the council of your plan, and keep them from reaching the point of no return in calling for your resignation," Pierce says, and Vision nods to him, triumphant in this battle. "But we will expect a return on this promise, Vision. If you are unable to bring Ms. Maximoff to our side soon, I will not hesitate to take matters into my own hands."

"You must observe a realistic timeframe, sir," Vision says, not hesitating and not caring if this would be considered insubordination. "I will be asking her to abandon one of her current purposes and lay aside her considerable anger towards HYDRA for - she believes - causing Wolfgang Strucker's death. You can't just ask for it to happen soon."

Pierce stares at him, eyes hard and something dangerous in their depths, but lets out a long breath and says, "Six months from today."

"Sir, you are asking me to completely change the viewpoint of a powerful and stubborn woman," Vision argues, and Pierce's mouth momentarily twists in fury. "This is a matter that must be handled delicately. I can't change her mind in one night, not to the extent we all want. If you want full loyalty to HYDRA, a year would be a more realistic ask."

"Nine months, no more," Pierce says, and Vision pushes down the frustration that swells in his mind, knowing the compromise is the best he will get. "Within that time, I need to see both the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver brought to our side, completely loyal to HYDRA and ready to be our most powerful soldiers. If you haven't succeeded, the council will need to consider both your position and another course of actions against the Maximoffs."

"Yes sir." Pierce sends him away with a pointed gesture, and only when alone in his office does Vision allow himself a moment of abject terror, to let every thought of losing his position on the HYDRA council flood over him in a chilling wave of precarious reality. To be ejected as a head would mean losing all power within HYDRA, setting his plans back years at best or rendering them completely impossible to see through. He would be reduced to just another soldier, taken away from the manor and the money and Manhattan to hold court over as the shadowy imposing figure of the criminal underworld.

And, after that moment, he lets go of every fear. Refuses to allow it to rule him, straightening up and adjusting his tie and gritting his teeth in new resolve, a new mission to complete. Nine months is enough time to take the power and determination that he has seen in Wanda Maximoff every time they've encountered each other and slowly turn it to support HYDRA. More than a mission, it is a challenge. One worthy of his intellect and power and, yes, his body. It will take more than eye contact in a crowded room to seduce Wanda Maximoff.

But she was the one to break through the tension and bring her mouth to his. She backed herself against the desk in what was once an office and moaned and gripped him tighter while he left marks rising dark on her neck. Whatever trick she is playing or tactic she is employing, it aligns perfectly with his interests. She is playing directly into his hands. The thought has him smirking into the empty room, allowing that fantasy he's been allowing himself to indulge in late at night to come to the front of his mind, imagining her dark hair spread out over his sheets and her body writhing beneath his.

Perhaps it will not take nine months after all.

* * *

"You know, maybe it is a better idea to leave my hair loose for missions," Wanda says, watching the November wind snatching at the streets outside, trees whipping back and papers rushing along the sidewalks. "Harder to grab if people get close enough."

"Looks more villainous," Pietro tells her, tucking his knife into the holster at his hip, anger already smouldering in his eyes. "Speaking of villainous, is this all about putting on a show for the cameras?"

"Maybe we'll get lucky, but I doubt we're going to be able to get inside Avengers Tower," she says, and he looks briefly mutinous. "So yes, we are just putting on a show for the cameras. But it'll be one that proves that we aren't afraid of anything. Just don't get caught."

"No one will be able to catch me," Pietro says, with a smirk more mischievous than cruel, as if he's still a boy believing the world is nothing but fun and games. "You're the one to worry about."

"Anyone who tries to shove me in one of SHIELD's prisons has no idea who they're dealing with," she says, darkness shadowing her words, and Pietro gives her a nod of satisfaction.

She's grateful for her choice of long sleeves when they step outside, the wind immediately snatching at her skirt and her hair, silvery sheets of rain driving against the ground. A perfect atmosphere for a supervillain attack on the tower that the Avengers have been calling home since their fancy new compound went up in flames. Following Pietro towards the beacon of heroics that dominates the Manhattan skyline, she reminds herself that it was Vision who caused the explosion, who murdered Bruce Banner and led Tony Stark down the spiral of despair that sites beyond gleeful celebrity gossip are beginning to write about, citing concerned comments from SHIELD personnel as proof that the first hero of modern times is unravelling before the eyes of a horrified public, piece by piece. She has been up close and personal with the only supervillain to have succeeded in killing an Avenger.

The rain has soaked through her clothes by the time they reach Avengers Tower, but she refuses to let herself shiver despite the goosebumps that have risen on her arms. Pietro blurs away, occupied with his own aims in this mission, and she slides into the shadows offered by the streets around the soaring beacon to Tony Stark's ego, looking up at the embellished metal A with hatred twisting like a knife in her gut. Stark may be the first to have sparked her hatred, but the rest are no better. They're doing the world a service in their aims to destroy the Avengers.

Eyeing the busy street, people walking back and forth across the roads and busying themselves with the lives of any average New Yorker, she smiles to herself and raises her hand, her powers rising from within to form a glowing scarlet ball in the curve of her outstretched palm. An easy, practiced gesture sends it flying across the road and into the sidewalk, sending chunks of concrete exploding outwards with a rumble akin to thunder. Screaming begins with one person, rising to a crescendo with the pounding of feet as people run in every direction.

Another jet of red and the engine of a taxi driving by explodes into roaring flames, the driver and his passenger jerking the doors open and stumbling from the wreckage, coughing against the rising plumes of black smoke. Thrilled at the way her power rushes through her, glowing brightly above her raised hands, Wanda watches the chaos unfold, gritting her teeth and releasing a blast of red that shakes the ground, turns over parked cars and causes every streetlamp lining the road to explode in showers of sparks and broken glass.

Someone cries out, "It's the Scarlet Witch!" and she smiles to hear her chosen name screamed in fear, to watch the people run from her as she takes centre stage in the scene, magic crackling through her blood and cracks running through the road where she steps. Raising a hand in an almost lazy gesture, she flicks her fingers and red runs over the first few floors of Avengers Tower, blowing out windows and shaking the foundations of the building, alarms beginning to wail and drown out the screaming and the hissing and spitting of engines in flames.

She watches cracks creep into the walls of the tower gleefully, pulling yet more power from the seemingly endless untapped well that exists somewhere within her, and grinning as windows shatter high above her, the light of her magic running up to the highest point of the building, no doubt visible from all over Manhattan. It will be breaking news, and she imagines every channel interrupting themselves as she works to inform the world of a supervillain attack directly on Avengers Tower, smirking more with every second that passes without someone emerging from the thick metal security doors to attack her.

"Quite the light show, Ms. Maximoff." The voice is already too familiar, the same one she hears in so many dreams and fantasies, and she doesn't allow the way her stomach lurches to show on her face as she turns to face Vision, out of his usual disguise and watching her from the wall of a corner shop, leaning against the rough brick with an expression impossible to read.

"Nothing happens in Manhattan without you knowing about it, huh?" she observes, idly letting glowing red play around her fingers and wondering if her powers would have any effect on him. It would make getting rid of him in all of these encounters far easier, and perhaps help her to get over her lust for him - a feeling that is making itself known no matter how hard she tries to ignore it, her heart beating insistently faster and her mind reminding her of the way he kissed her, her fingers itching to rise and brush against the spots where he left his mark on her, though the bruises have faded in the intervening days.

"With the spectacle you are making of yourself, I couldn't fail to notice," he says, and she bristles at his phrasing, how he weaves his words into an insult. "Do you truly believe this is beneficial to your long-term aims, Ms. Maximoff? Or was this your brother's idea?"

"Why would you assume this was Pietro's idea?" she asks, and he moves away from the wall and closer to her, forcing her to pour all of her willpower into focusing on his face and the smirk curling the corner of his mouth and not to allow her gaze to sweep over him, add more fuel to the fire of her intrusive desire.

"It's all flash, no true substance to it," Vision says, voice silken over the syllables, almost able to distract her from the fact that he is insulting her family. "Your brother is a dog chasing cars - he wouldn't know what to do with one if he caught it. I see young men like him come through HYDRA's ranks, men who enjoy the weight of a gun in their hands and the intoxication of having power over those weaker than them. Ultimately, they are the first to turn and flee when the danger becomes real."

"You don't know my brother," she snaps. "He's out there right now, creating his own show for the cameras. This is supposed to be a flashy attack, a way to show the world our powers."

"Then you are behaving foolishly, Ms. Maximoff," Vision says, and red sparks in her hands with the surge of anger. "There is far greater power in shrouding yourself in mystery than in having the world know what you can do. I myself remain in the shadows, simply a mysterious figure. All Manhattan knows of me is that I am powerful."

"Maybe if they knew who you were you'd be more powerful." His eyes widen a little at her bold contradiction, and she smiles. "People whisper the names Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch in fear, they know our faces and our names and word of mouth alone builds our reputation. The world knows we're dangerous, and no one but the Avengers can even hope to fight us as equals. There is a power in knowing people fear you."

"Your understanding of that shows me what you are truly made of," Vision says, and she is briefly disarmed by what could be considered a compliment, some weaker part of her drawn to it like a helpless moth to a flame. "Forgive me for saying so, but your brother is simply made of something weaker, more malleable." He moves closer to her, close enough for her to see the colour of the vibranium plate that she remembers tracing the edges of through his white shirt, and she hastily drags her gaze back to his face, noticing a curious softness in his eyes. "You, however...you have the makings of a true supervillain. You could be a force to be reckoned with."

"I already am," she says, hating the slight break in her voice, the quiver that laces through her words, her heart pounding at his proximity and heat creeping between her legs.

He laughs softly, low and distracting, and puts a hand to her arm, fingertips toying with the fabric of her sleeves, and her breath hitches involuntarily. "You're certainly confident enough in your abilities," he observes, and she tries to toss her hair and smirk, take back some of the power in this unsettling dynamic. "With a little mentoring, you could take the place you truly deserve in this world. I would be happy to teach you how to play this game."

The gentle weight of his hand distracts her for a long moment of silence, the warmth of his skin even through her clothes making her heart beat faster, but she finds the resolve to respond, "I don't need to be taught."

"Everyone can benefit from a little teaching," he observes, voice soft, and she hates that his words cause her stomach to turn liquid hot with desire, hoping that her expression isn't betraying her. "You are too powerful to throw yourself away on mediocrity. Believe me, Wanda, it would be no chore to give you a greater space in my world."

His gaze drops to her lips, a clear signal, and his hand moves to her hip, cupping over the curve and drawing her closer as he leans in. Time seems to slow for a moment, her own breathing loud in the stillness, and her hand snaps up to press against his mouth, keeping his face inches away from hers, and his eyes reflect shock back at her. "Don't," she says, and despite how quiet her voice is she hears nothing but strength there. "Don't kiss me."

He blinks at her, once, twice, then clears his throat and says, "Ms. Maximoff, you must remember who initiated what happened in that training centre."

She takes his hand from her hip, waits for him to step back so she can reorganise her thoughts and silence the small part of her mind that is furious at her for refusing the kiss, and says, "It was a mistake in a moment of weakness. I shouldn't have done it. We will not be getting anywhere close to that again. It would be a terrible decision. For both of us."

Vision looks at her for a long moment, eyes searching her face, and she hardens her expression, tries to show her resolve despite inner conflict. "I understand," he says at long last. "Admittedly, it wasn't an intelligent decision. It's not why I came looking for you. I am very sorry for pushing your boundaries, Ms. Maximoff."

His apology unseats her, and she slides into character a little further to hide her surprise. "Just don't try anything more," she says, fire laced through her words. "I can't promise I won't try to hurt you if you get in my way again."

He smiles at that, and says, "Be sure to think over what I've told you. You would make a stunning addition to the world's roster of great supervillains. And I can't pretend that I don't have reasons other than hoping to see you embrace your potential for wanting to mentor you." One last long look at her, his gaze heated and a smirk growing on his lips, and he walks away, leaving her standing on the street with the alarms of Avengers Tower screaming behind her and a tussle between logic and lust swirling in her mind.

* * *

One for Gideon Malick, with his air of superiority and blatant disregard for the growing frustration with his handling of HYDRA affairs, for the way he puts Vision down in every meeting and leaves him thinking back on those words late at night, thinking of all the reasons he will never belong and will never be good enough.

One for Jack Rollins, who shadows Vision everywhere he goes but could not make his contempt for him more obvious, rolled eyes and silent glares and exaggerated sighs whenever asked to do something that the bodyguard of a head of HYDRA should do without the slightest complaint, who provides reason for rumours to spread across the household until all but the youngest and most steadfast of guards still respect Vision.

One for Alexander Pierce, for his grip on HYDRA and therefore the world as a whole, his smug smile and steadfast belief that no one could run HYDRA as efficiently as he does, for the way he puts down everyone around him in ways just obvious enough to needle at the psyche late at night, for the way he threw Wolfgang Strucker aside but still wishes to benefit from his life's work, for how selfish he is and yet, how powerful, thus far impossible to unseat.

One for Wanda Maximoff, frustrating and compelling as she is, the power he sees in her that he wonders if she knows herself, the way she argues his every point and still has him wanting her, wanting another kiss, wanting so much more, and yet he always remembers her hand preventing his mouth from meeting hers, the resolve in her eyes when she insisted that what surpassed between them was nothing more than a mistake, the memory making a cold, cloying fear that she will become the first woman to refuse him creep through his mind.

"Sir." Forbes is hovering in the doorway to the training room, a small spark of fear crossing his eyes as he looks around at the destroyed punching bags, frustration expressed through Vision's fists having slowly turned to rage the longer he let his thoughts take over. "Mr. Malick, Mr. Bloom and the Baroness are all on conference. I left the call waiting in your office."

"Thank you," Vision says, and brushes past the young man, pushing away the vestiges of anger still churning in his chest and settling into the mindset of a head of HYDRA. Not someone who must find more and more outlets to express the frustration that has become part of their psyche. A cool-headed leader of an international organisation, tactical and intelligent and certainly not overly wrapped up in personal affairs.

Closing the office door against the curious ears of his men, five of whom have mysteriously begun to pace the corridor outside in a none-too-subtle effort to overhear the meeting after news of cracks beginning to form in the relationships between heads has begun to spread, Vision sits at his desk and watches his computer monitor spring to life, the faces of the three other heads all waiting for him, set in solemn masks. He tries to put Pierce's words out of his mind, to forget that other heads believe that he is becoming unfit for the position, and affects a mask of superiority. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he says, and gives a slight smile to the Baroness as he adds, "And lady. May I ask why we are holding this meeting without Alexander present?"

"Because he believes that you allowing the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver to attack Avengers Tower was a calculated and tactical move," Malick says immediately, words thick with barely-contained fury. "The attack in Manhattan three days ago was a grievous oversight on your part. You failed to stop the Maximoff twins from causing the catastrophic death toll."

"I'd hardly call sixteen people a catastrophic death toll, Gideon," the Baroness says, and Malick grits his teeth in a polite grimace. "And you already know why the Maximoff twins are being allowed to run rampant. The more wins they get, the more complacent they will become. Or don't you want Wolfgang's experiments on our side?"

"Of course I want them on our side, I just question Vision's tactics in getting them there!" Malick protests, to the rumble of a sigh from someone else on the connection. "People are dying at the hands of people independent of HYDRA! We gave Wolfgang the money and the resources to create them, and now his experiments are out there wandering aimlessly around Manhattan trying to kill the Avengers."

"Trying, and failing," Bloom says coolly. "Only structural damage to Avengers Tower, and with Stark's seemingly bottomless pool of wealth that should be easily fixed. As you've said yourself, Gideon, the twins are dogs chasing cars. I'd be surprised if they knew what to do with the Avengers at their mercy."

"I'd hesitate to underestimate Wanda Maximoff if I were you, Octavian," Vision says. "Her brother is another story, a dog chasing cars if I have ever seen one, but Wolfgang created something spectacular with the girl. She will be a stunning addition to our organisation."

"Ah yes, your little plan to seduce the girl into believing in the might of HYDRA," Malick says, lip curling in contempt. "A foolish plan. I don't understand why Alexander supports it."

"This I have to agree with Gideon on," Bloom says, and Vision doesn't let any change in his expression show, though his fingers clench on the edge of the desk and a shiver of cold passes over him like a shadow. "It just isn't the HYDRA way. Some might say you've chosen this plan because you want to get closer to the girl."

"Isn't that the aim?" Vision asks, wishing this meeting was taking place in person and not through a computer screen, so it would be easier to unseat his doubters with a look and subtle tone of voice. "We all want the Maximoffs to join HYDRA. Toppling Ms. Maximoff to our way of thinking will make it far easier to bring the boy with her." In a rush of words he knows he will come to regret, he adds, "Perhaps you have both lived too long to remember, but there is no greater form of manipulation than sex."

The Baroness lets out a bark of laughter, Bloom and Malick's expressions both momentarily flashing with rage. "Well said, my dear," she says cheerfully. "I'm afraid, gentlemen, that I will be supporting Alexander in believing that Vision's strategy is the best one. Remember that all of Wolfgang's reports on the twins are still in the archives, The girl was always the one he was excited about. We need her to come to us first, willingly and fully loyal."

"But what of our people who will die facing the twins?" Bloom asks, trying to regain his footing as the Baroness gives Vision a secret smile, one that sends a slight warmth through his heart, momentarily softening at a show of support. "The boy killed new recruits in the attack on the training centre, young men and women with great potential. Word is getting out about this, and the projected figures show that recruitment will drop by at least thirteen percent over the next month. With the Avengers having grown their ranks and SHIELD thinning out our available bases with every passing week, losing men could be lethal to our aims."

"I have been thinking on this issue," Vision says, thinking back on Wanda's words while she faced him against the backdrop of a street destroyed by her powers. "HYDRA's power lay in being faceless and unknown for a long time, but since Alexander brought us back into the spotlight that power has been waning. Many of our faces are known around the world, plastered across most wanted lists, and power lies in being known. We should claim responsibility for Bruce Banner's death."

There is silence apart from a series of clicking sounds from one of the others, and the next moment Pierce's face joins the conference call. "Why don't you repeat what you just said to Mr. Pierce, Vision?" Malick sneers, and Vision reflects silently and smugly on Malick's switch from calling their superior by his first name to his second, how obvious his fear is.

"We should claim responsibility for Bruce Banner's death." Pierce simply continues to gaze at him, as authoritative as ever even through a computer screen. "Banner's death left the world reeling, wondering who could have possibly murdered an Avenger in cold blood, destroyed their home and escaped. If HYDRA announces that we killed him, recruitment will soar, people will be eager to join such a powerful organisation."

"And how do you expect people to believe that one of our operatives was able to break into the Avengers compound, take down however many of the twenty SHIELD agents it was necessary to take down, kill Bruce Banner, set off an explosion that destroyed the entire building and still escape?" Malick asks.

"We could say that an operative died to complete the mission," the Baroness muses.

"No, no, that won't fix recruitment, not if people believe that they will only gain praise and glory for such actions through self-sacrifice," Bloom says.

"Or perhaps it is time that we unveiled our secret weapon." Pierce's words are quiet, but cause silence to reign for a long moment. "What do you say, Vision? Are you ready to reveal your place within our organisation to the world?"

There is no logical response other than, "Yes, sir."

* * *

"There's a letter from Werner," Pietro says, tossing a sheaf of envelopes into Wanda's lap with a rush of air across her feet. "Addressed just to you, as usual." He collapses in a heap on the couch, lets out a long rush of a sigh and says, "I was thinking of staying in tonight. Maybe we could watch a movie."

"You choose," Wanda says, tearing the letter from Werner open and smiling softly over the familiar handwriting, the familiar crinkle of money folded tightly in the worn paper.

Her gaze flickers upwards, startled, when Pietro turns the TV on to  _BREAKING NEWS_  flashing wildly across the screen and a newscaster unable to hide their fear behind layers of make-up and a steady voice as they say, "Director of SHIELD Nicholas J. Fury received a letter direct to his office early this morning from known head of HYDRA Alexander Pierce. The organisation has claimed responsibility for the unsolved mysterious death of Bruce Banner four months ago, and Pierce included footage which Fury has released to the wider public in hopes that no one else will be killed at the hands of HYDRA's newest power."

Wanda's glass crashes to the floor, mercifully not breaking but spilling water all over her outstretched legs and the rug, when Vision's face appears suddenly on the screen, albeit in grainy secondhand footage. "Greetings, Director Fury," he says, and the newscaster's expression at the bottom righthand corner of the screen is pure horror. Wanda momentarily thinks that the world will be cringing in horror, seeing the crimson skin and the unnaturally blue eyes and the mind stone swirling with black at the centre of Vision's forehead, but her own thoughts are of his hands and how they felt gripping her, the strength of his body pressed against hers, the urgency of his kisses and the surprising warmth of his lips. "You don't know me, but I am a head of HYDRA. The newest, actually. Appointed to replace Wolfgang von Strucker after your Avengers tore him from us. I killed Bruce Banner."

The announcement blurs into background noise, all information she already knows, allowing her to simply watch the movement of Vision's lips, heat creeping up the back of her neck the longer she watches, the more she thinks about his mouth on hers, regret pulling at her thoughts for having turned down the kiss he offered outside of Avengers Tower. She hasn't stopped thinking since, wondering what could have been had she given in, imagining a kiss as needy as their first, imagining going further.

She glances down for a moment, and notices the edge of a piece of paper without an envelope wedged in between pieces of junk mail, glances sideways to see that Pietro is fully absorbed in the news before pulling it out. It's a simple scrap of paper, torn at one edge, and there are only a few lines of writing in a neat, easily legible hand. Words that make her heart skip and her breath catch in her throat.  _Ms. Maximoff - we both know what is happening here. You can choose to ignore it. Or you can choose otherwise._  Below that, an address. No signature. No need for one.

"Holy shit." Pietro's voice brings her back to reality, the news moving into a briefing on how civilians can protect themselves in case of HYDRA attacks, and he's on his feet, their potential quiet night in their apartment forgotten. "I'm going back to that bar, gonna try and find out what the hell is going on and why HYDRA has suddenly chosen to unveil their secret weapon. Are you coming?"

Looking up at her brother, curling her fingers tighter around the scrap of paper that she knows came from Vision, the words written in his hand flashing across her mind, she says, "No. I'll stay here, keep an eye on the news. If something happens nearby tonight, I can go and take advantage of the chaos."

"Good call," Pietro says, and drops a kiss on the top of her head. "Be careful if you go out there alone. No telling what Vision might do now the world knows him."

The moment the door closes behind him, she is running from the couch to her bedroom, rereading the note a dozen times, gaze flickering all around the room as she struggles with indecision, with the tussle between her head and every other fibre of her being. She shouldn't, it's an absolutely terrible idea, she shouldn't even be entertaining the thought of it - but she hasn't wanted anyone so badly in all her life, she hasn't given into lust like this, she hasn't thought of someone every night in increasingly explicit fantasies. Vision's kisses are at the forefront of her memory every night, she misses the marks he left on her neck, she touches herself imagining that her hands are his. Ripping up the letter won't change that - his address has already wormed its way into her memory.

Even standing on the subway, her knuckles white on the strap hanging from the ceiling, meeting her own hastily-outlined eyes in the window, indecision still races through her. Each time the carriage slows to pull into a new station, she tells herself she'll turn back, go home, put everything out of her mind and sleep through the night. But the stations flash by and she still stands there, swaying with the movement of the carriage, slyly undoing another button of her shirt and reapplying lipstick while the car is quiet.

Her heart is drumming against her ribs as she stands and takes in the almost nauseating opulence of the manor Vision presumably lives in, surrounded by sprawling green lands, the driveway lined with expensive cars, all gleaming black. It's her last chance to turn back, to stop herself from making what feels distinctly like a mistake, but the voice that says that is growing smaller and smaller in the back of her mind, fading away to nothing more than a minor annoyance. Her mind is truly made up.

Two men stand at the doors, and she waves a hand and slams them back into the walls, watching the two bodies slump to the ground unconscious. The manor is eerily silent inside, nothing but the occasional sound of a footstep to fill the echoing corridors, and the tapping of her heels matches her frantically fluttering pulse as she searches, guided by the occasional ripple of a mind against her consciousness.

Heat pools between her legs when she finds what she's been searching for, the guard standing over the door with a bored expression crumpling to the floor at the jet of red she shoots at him. She bites at her lip, but there's no turning back, not when everything in her is screaming out a plea for her to see this stupid decision through. Taking a steadying moment, a grounding breath, she pins the smirk of the Scarlet Witch onto her lips and opens the door.

Her breath leaves her in a shuddering gasp when she finds Vision waiting for her, sitting at his desk and truly looking like a head of HYDRA, satisfaction creeping into his smile as he runs his gaze over her, up and down and filled with pure unadulterated lust. "Ms. Maximoff," he says, the words silkily drawn out. "I see you got my letter. How nice to see you."

A swipe of her hand, and everything flies off the desk in front of him in a blaze of crimson, and the smugness fades away from his expression into shock, gaze darting back and forth between the mess on the floor and her as she steps out of her heels, lets her coat fall to the ground, snaps, "Don't talk," and crosses the room to his desk. Their eyes meet for a moment, she sees that despite his pretenses and his mask his pupils are blown wide with desire, watches the movement of his throat as he gulps nervously, and reaches across the smooth, highly-polished surface to wrap his tie tightly in her fist and yank him across the desk to kiss her.

Relief rushes through her, but it's only momentary, her desperate need to feel more of him driving her to push him back, noting his stunned expression, frantically pulling at the knot of his tie until it loosens enough to slide it from under his collar and toss it aside. His eyes on her are all lust as she pushes him back, climbs onto the desk and pulls him back to her, mouths meeting and his tongue tracing the curve of her lower lip, pulling a moan from her as she pushes his blazer from his shoulders and skims her palms down his chest, feeling the lines of vibranium through the thin material, his hands curling around her waist in response, gripping her hard enough to bruise. Her fingers, shaking with desperate desire, fumble at the buttons on his shirt, and she loses patience and a jet of red sends every one skittering across the floor.

Vision backs away from the kiss, stares down at his now ruined shirt, and looks back up at her, and she smirks at him, noting with satisfaction her lipstick now smeared across the lower half of his face, his dazed eyes and his hands shaking. "Shouldn't wear clothes that aren't easy to take off," she says smugly, and pulls him back in by the open halves of his shirt, not hesitating to moan into his mouth when he nips at her lip. Pushing his collar aside, she runs her fingertips over the exposed plate of vibranium, traces the edges of the shape, and his answering groan is almost a growl, his hands snapping back from her waist to pull the shirt away from him and toss it aside before he goes for her buttons.

Skin to skin contact feels better than she could've imagined, the warmth of Vision's synthetic skin contrasting sharply to the coolness of the plates of vibranium, and she wraps her legs around him to bring them closer together. She's momentarily annoyed when he pulls out of the kiss but moans and clings to him when he starts to kiss at her neck, biting hard enough that satisfaction sings through her, knowing he'll leave marks behind. He trails kisses down her neck, across her collarbones, and every sting of his teeth has her moaning, gasping, aching for more. Finally he looks up at her, chest heaving, fingertips tracing over the edge of her bra and rendering her speechless with arousal, and grits out, "Should we move this to the bedroom?"

Catching his hands in hers, she murmurs, "No need," and unwinds her legs from around him. "Get in the chair." He blinks at her, but obeys regardless, and she slides down from the desk, watches his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing, makes sure to let her gaze linger on the obvious bulge of his erection for long enough that he notices.

She raises her hand, shimmering red, and the condom she took from Pietro's room flies from the pocket of her crumpled coat to her hand, Vision's gaze following its arc. "Is this what you want?" she asks, spinning the foil packet on a cloud of her powers, reaching her free hand up to unclasp her bra and revelling in his drawn-out groan as she lets the lacy material fall and kicks it aside.

"Please." The one word sends her world spinning, the rush of arousal so strong it's all she can do not to let her knees buckle, instead keeping her gaze on Vision's as she tosses him the condom.

"Then get naked." She busies herself doing the same, unzipping her skirt, shimmying out of her tights and underwear, and watches him fumble the condom onto his straining cock, fighting not to moan at the mere sight.

"I want you to know, Ms. Maximoff," he says as she straddles him, clasping her hands onto her shoulders and trying to relax. "I've wanted this since the moment I saw you."

"I wanted it the moment I saw the real you," she replies softly, and sinks onto him, the instant pressure making her cry out, her eyes fall closed, and she drops her head onto his shoulder as his arms wrap around her, their bodies close enough that she both feels and hears his guttural groan. "Oh fuck, shit,  _fuck_."

She shifts her hips, buries her face in his shoulder with a long moan, his fingers tracing patterns into her sweat-slick back. "Worth the wait," Vision murmurs, so softly she suspects he didn't mean for her to hear, but it spurs her to start moving, thrill after thrill running through her at every hitch in his breath, every groan, every time his grip tightens on her. " _Wanda_."

The chair creaks violently beneath them every time she moves, and she hazily wonders if it might have been a better idea to move to the bedroom, or to have used the desk instead, but the thought is quickly driven away when Vision lowers his head and wraps his lips around her nipple, her hips jerking out of the rhythm she's established and her nails dragging down his back in a way she suspects would make anyone else bleed. " _Vision_ ," she moans, and he raises his gaze to meet hers, and she wraps her fingers around his jaw and jerks him into a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and lack of finesse.

One of his hands slips down between them, his fingers circling her clit once, twice, three times before she cries out and bucks into his touch, his mouth going to her neck as her moans become rapid Sokovian swearing, her chest heaving, rising to a cry of something like his name as she comes, the hand still curved over her hip helping her ride it out until she collapses against him, sweaty and trembling and gasping for breath. Her forehead resting on his shoulder, he wraps his arms tighter around her and thrusts up into her, grunting with every movement until he groans, " _Wanda_ ," directly into her ear, making her shudder with a new wave of desire, and goes still.

They stay that way for a minute, both breathing shallowly, her heart pounding and reality slowly returning, the spinning of her head calming until she can make sense of her surroundings, blink without seeing splashes of bright light. Then she climbs off him, slowly testing whether her trembling has calmed enough to stand, and starts to redress herself, calmly aware of Vision's gaze following her around the room as she gathers her discarded belongings.

"Where are you going?" he asks, his voice still rough and low, and it takes willpower not to turn back into his arms.

"Home," she says simply, pulling her bra straps up over her shoulders and shrugging back into her shirt. "Pietro won't be out all night, and if I'm not at home he'll panic."

Vision stands too, stepping back into his underwear, and comes to stand beside her, looking down at her with something she can't read without reaching out with her powers in his eyes - and, frankly, she has no desire to read his mind directly after sex. She's done it before, and never been impressed. "Stay," he says.

"Listen, Vision, that was good," she says, and turns away from him, his affronted expression making a slight amused smile pull at the corners of her mouth as she steps back into her heels and belts her coat. "I thought I was just here to get it out of my system so I could think about something other than fucking you. But I'll be back."

"When?" he asks, and she smirks at the slight note of desperation in his voice. For having a reputation as a womaniser, bedding someone new every night, he certainly seems fixated on her.

"Next time I'm horny," she says sweetly, and turns to press a last kiss to his mouth, flickering her tongue along the seam of his lips before pulling away and giving him a teasing smirk.

She walks out of the manor with her smile growing into a grin, making her way back to the subway with a giddy grin that has several passer-by squinting at her. Only on the subway does she look at her reflection in the windows and see how wild her hair has become, her swollen lips and flushed cheeks and smeared eyeliner, her tights twisted from pulling them on hastily and the top button of her shirt missing, and grins at her reflection. There is only one way to describe her appearance, the one getting her a disapproving purse of the lips from an older man sitting further down the carriage, the one she's so triumphant over that she simply can't stop smiling.

And that is thoroughly-fucked.


	5. before this river becomes an ocean

**A/N:** Many, many apologies for how long it's been since I updated this story! Writer's block combined with a return to uni is an absolute bitch, but here I am with a new chapter! Hope everyone enjoys!

* * *

Reaching for the rack of neatly-pressed ties, the sounds of the morning patrols and the raucous voices of the men who are supposed to obey him echoing through the manor, Vision pauses when his fingers brush against silk patterned with the subtle stripe of black-on-black, staring at the material for a long moment of silence, mind swirling with memories. Her hands with their chipped black nail polish working at the neat knot, pulling the material away from his collar and crumpling it to the ground, where he didn't find it until hours later. Her lips on his, so soft and warm and desperate, moving with his, parting and giving way to a moan, the way they felt beneath his tongue. Her weight on top of him, her skin slick with sweat, the way she moved beneath his touch and her breath on his neck.

His mind only stirs from reliving the moments that stand out so bright, preserved perfectly in his memory, when a knock comes at his door, and he hastily chooses a different tie and knots it with practiced gestures. Briefly, he wonders if perhaps one day every tie in his collection will have Wanda Maximoff's fingerprints on it, if getting dressed each morning will carry with it the memories of the flush in her cheeks and her eyes dark with desire and the sound of her sighs, but pushes the thought away, forces himself not to think of her.

Jerking his door open, he finds Williams standing there, deliberately looking at him with a slight sneer curling his lip, and tersely snaps, "What is it? I have work to do."

"Sorry, sir," Williams says, somehow managing to make it sound like the worst insult known to man rather than a respectful title. "A message from the Baroness. She wanted to let you know she'll be calling in later to discuss the acquisition of the Maximoff twins."

"I thought I had made it clear that calls from my fellow heads should be brought to me as priority," Vision says, and Williams raises an eyebrow at him, superiority in his eyes. "I hope you are not forgetting who you serve, Williams."

"I serve you, sir," Williams says. "The newest, least-experienced head of HYDRA. Bruce Banner's killer. Wolfgang von Strucker's final  _experiment_."

Every phrase, those words he repeats to himself to affirm his identity, who he is, seems like poison in that tone ringing through with false respect. But he won't allow himself to break, only look down on Williams with pity in his eyes and say, "You would do well to respect me. Contempt for those above you on the food chain won't get you far in HYDRA."

Alone in his office, Rollins taking his reluctant place outside the door to guard him, Vision pauses in the room where he expected to draw Wanda Maximoff into his influence, begin the process of turning her to support the might of HYDRA. It feels different now, has ever since he heard Rollins crumple to the ground unconscious and Wanda opened the door, the smirk of the Scarlet Witch on her lips and the strength of resolve in her eyes. When he waits for sleep and stares into the darkness, he can still see her unwrapping the knot in the belt on her coat and letting the heavy material fall with a whispered thud, remember her shoes neatly lined up against the wall, the way she looked down at him sitting at his desk before she kissed him.

Work takes longer now, the entire room hung heavily with the memory of her, her eyes so dark with desire and her body so eager, so wanting, the way she kissed him desperate and yet still so in control. Every moment was her decision, from the moment she walked into his manor to the moment she walked out again without so much as a firm promise she would return. It plagues him in quiet minutes, the thought that she might not come back. He hasn't been back to the bar since seeing her, hasn't imagined being with any other woman but her, his very foundation shaken by every recalled moment of the way she told him what to do and he followed the whims of her voice so easily, without a question.

It's not the way he will succeed in his plan to seduce her into joining HYDRA, the plan he must stick to in order to keep the fragile respect of his fellow heads and cling to the power he was so secure in not more than a month ago. Wanda Maximoff has shaken his life to the core, and only by seducing her will he return it to the life he wants to live, the life he has been shaping to his liking since bursting out of the cradle and ending Bruce Banner's life in a flash of golden light. He must anticipate her next move, not merely watch as she storms into his manor, attacks his men and does as she pleases with him. He must initiate each new milestone of their relationship, have her writhing and begging on his sheets, make her biddable and pliant and whisper HYDRA's words in her ears until she is the one who submits to his whims.

He takes his seat, forces his mind away from her parted lips and the way she clung to him as she cried out his name, gritting his teeth as he pushes the memory determinedly away and turns to his work, a report from Bloom on recruitment since the announcement that HYDRA killed Bruce Banner and a new training regime Rumlow wants to implement sent to every head for review first. This is what he has to focus on, not the constant thinking of Wanda Maximoff. Should she choose to tear up the note he left her with his address, he can simply go to her apartment and pin her to the walls there, take her apart in her territory. It will be simple.

Despite slow progress, his subconscious consistently interrupting his focus on the work of a head of HYDRA by reminding him of how Wanda Maximoff looked sitting on the edge of the very desk he's working at, pressing her body urgently into his, the reports on recruitment are soon emailed back to Bloom with added comments and he is making slow progress on Rumlow's reviews of the pitfalls of the current training regime for new recruits. The knock at his door is a welcome distraction, and he calls out, "Come in."

Forbes leans around the door with the same nervousness in his eyes, one of the few guards in the household to not have turned to the beginnings of disrespect, never indulging in the whispers that Vision's power was the luck of the draw and is already waning. "Sir, the Baroness is here to see you."

"Send her in," Vision says, and gives a pleasant smile to his fellow head as Forbes closes the door behind them. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Baroness?"

"The pleasure is all mine, my dear," she says, taking the seat opposite him. "Such a nice break from Octavian and Gideon and their constant prattling on about recruitment worries." She gives him a piercing look, one that makes him uncomfortably sure that she is aware of what happened in this room - what began on the desk. "You may not pay attention to the idle gossip of henchmen, Vision, but I do. I find they know some intriguing things."

"To what are you alluding, Baroness?" he asks, and she raises an eyebrow at him.

"All my men have whispered of for days is the news from your men that a certain person of great interest to HYDRA walked into this manor and left a little later looking rather smug," she says, and the expected confirmation that his men show their disrespect through gossiping between household factions puts a twist to his mouth before he can prevent his mask from cracking. "So, am I to assume that you have begun the seduction of Ms. Wanda Maximoff?"

He doesn't even open his mouth to answer before she lets out a low laugh and says, "Of course you have, men can never hide their thoughts when it comes to beautiful women. At least now I will be able to give Octavian and Gideon a straight answer when they call five times a day asking if I'm also hearing that the little witch has been with you."

"I assume they are still wildly unsupportive of this course of action," he says, and she nods. "Well, they will be eating their words in a few months when it is far more successful than sending a group of agents after the twins would've been."

"Between you and I, Vision, those men simply don't understand how seduction could lead her to join our organisation," she says, and he allows himself a slight smug smile. "They have never satisfied a woman in their lives."

He chuckles slightly at her words, and even she smiles. "Is my seduction of Ms. Maximoff all you wished to talk about, Baroness?" he asks. "I have work to be getting on with."

"Is this Rumlow's ridiculous new training regime?" she asks. "I couldn't make head nor tail of it, just send it back to Alexander with approval and let him see how his bodyguard will run our poor recruits into the ground." She stands, and he does too, a show of friendship to the only fellow head he has any measure of respect for. "Good luck, my dear. I trust that we will be seeing the witch in our ranks soon enough."

"I am certain we will," he says, and she smiles. "Good luck to you with your gossiping men, Baroness. I will expect to see you at the next conference."

"I do so hate it when Gideon is hosting our meetings," she remarks with a pointed roll of her eyes. "I'm sure you will arrive with an update on the witch to keep them all entertained, though. I hope for your sake that whatever progress you have made is enough to satisfy Alexander."

As she leaves, the door swinging closed behind her, Vision tries desperately to keep himself from thinking that his progress won't be enough to satisfy Pierce, that he'll be told he should be doing more, urged to follow Wanda into her own territory and attempt to break her apart. A work of art like her should not be broken so early on. He wants to take her apart piece by piece, slowly dissolving any prejudice she may have against HYDRA, wreck her and make her biddable. Truly be the best of anything she has ever experienced. But that will require taking his mind off her, keeping his thoughts from straying so often to the way she controlled their one encounter, to return to his usual routine and act as though his life didn't change the moment he felt her lips on his.

But no woman in the bar that night draws his eyes. Just as no woman has drawn his eye since Wanda kissed him. Some may try, hands creeping over his shoulders and beautiful women with desire clear in their eyes curling themselves sinuously into the stool next to his, but none can ever hope to measure up to Wanda. None are quite so beautiful, none thrumming with the same power that draws him so strongly to her, and he can't imagine that any of these women with their crimson-painted lips could make him feel across an entire night the way Wanda did in the space of a mere hour.

* * *

Attention focused on the latest online article discussing the international security disaster that is the release of the knowledge that it was a high-ranking HYDRA operative who murdered Bruce Banner, thoughts straying to the Vision she knows, the way his breathing grew so shallow when she moved her hips against him and the way he groaned her name, Wanda doesn't even look up to telekinetically throw an apple at Pietro when he comes out of his room slamming the door and distracting her from once again reliving some of the best sex she's ever had. A yelp lets her know she made her target, and she smirks into her laptop screen. "What was that for?!" comes the wounded question.

"I'm trying to do research for our independent little supervillain duo, and you crashing around the apartment really isn't helping my concentration," she snaps at him without looking up, watching the silenced video of Vision's speech to Fury for perhaps the hundredth time - she's lost count - just to see him, remember him without the suit and the layers of mystery building into the evil that so many are whispering he encapsulates. Remembering him beneath her, eyes wide and dark with desire, the feel of his mouth against hers and the softness of his voice when he pleaded with her to stay.

"What's wrong with me closing a door?!" Pietro asks, tone so wounded, and she rolls her eyes. "God, you've been bitchy these last few days. I thought you'd finally gotten laid."

She throws another apple at him with a flick of her hand, though this one he dodges and she hears the dull thud of it smacking against the wall. "You're irritating whether or not I've had sex recently," she says, and Pietro sighs heavily.

"You were so much nicer to me when you were screwing around with Werner," he says, and she refrains from making any further comment to encourage this line of conversation. "I mean, maybe if you told me who it was that had you all dreamy and distracted for a few days..."

"I was  _not_  dreamy and distracted," she snaps, and Pietro snorts. "Obviously you're just having bad sex if you think my ignoring how irritating you can be is because of better-than-average sex."

"Whoever you slept with, I'm sure they'd be so pleased to hear that you consider them average," Pietro says, and she returns to her laptop screen, staring at the numerous articles on the rise of supervillains in recent months, resolutely ignoring her brother. "Are you ever gonna tell me who it was?"

"Why do you need to know?" she asks, watching a blurry video from a stranger's of their attack on Avengers Tower, the traitorous thought awaking at the back of her mind that it really does seem like nothing more than a light show. The damage they did is already mended, yet more security measures added to the tower, and it seems in the performance of their villainy they've simply made their aims harder to reach.

"Well, it would be nice to know if my baby sister is seeing someone," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"I think we're long past you being protective over who I choose to date," she says, and he huffs in frustration.

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" he snaps, and she pointedly moves away when he sits down next to her, ignoring the concern she can feel radiating off him, easily able to conjure up that familiar expression without looking at him, Vision's voice whispering in the back of her mind, reminding her that Pietro underestimates her, still thinks of her as that young, terrified girl who clung to her brother as the only person she had left in the world. "I don't like you keeping secrets from me, Wanda. I don't need the details, but I wanna know that you're seeing someone. It's risky!"

"No riskier than you sleeping with random heiresses," she says, and irritation sparks in his mind.

"It's different for you!"

"Why?!" she snaps, slamming her laptop closed and turning to face him, red sparking over her fingertips, fear briefly flashing across his eyes at that. "Because I'm a woman?"

"Stop twisting everything I say!" Pietro snaps, and she rolls her eyes. "You always do this! Honestly, ever since we found out that HYDRA is definitely after us you've been insufferable, you know that?"

"Maybe you should just go after the Avengers yourself then!" she shouts at him, snatching up her laptop and turning on her heel away from him. "I don't have to tell you everything I do. I'm allowed to go have fun and sleep with whoever I choose! It might never happen again!"

Even as she slams her bedroom door shut behind her, settling into her bed and beginning the wait for him to come and make things up, apologise for being the same irritating boy, so often fuelled by anger, that he's always been, she knows that she's lying. There's no way she's never going back to Vision's manor to find him.

Whatever willpower she had that kept her from seeking him out before she did, going to him that first time shattered it. Every night as she tries to sleep, she remembers the way he groaned her name, and the thought of watching him fall apart beneath her once again is irresistible.

* * *

Vision notes with smug satisfaction that Malick's manor is not as impressive as his, dark against the grey day, and the rooms inside lack the opulence he's come to expect from HYDRA-owned houses. The meeting room, built into the basement and protected by thick concrete walls, seems more like a prison than a luxurious space for the leaders of the greatest organisation in the world to gather, windowless and stuffy and lit by strip lights that emit a low whining hum.

Leaving Rollins guarding the door with the other heads' personal guards, glad to be rid of him, Vision takes a seat inside next to the Baroness, who acknowledges him and the connection they've found of late with a smile. Returning her warm look, Vision offers only cool nods to Malick and Bloom, both of whom gaze stonily at him, disapproval clear in the set of their mouths, and at this point he's more amused than offended by their obvious contempt.

"Thank you all for being here today," Pierce says from his position at the head of the table, and heads turn to him. Vision notes Bloom's notes on recruitment spread out over his section of the table, the Banker prepared with spreadsheets, and wishes there was any reason he could give for being to leave these lengthy meetings early. "We will start with reports on our reach overseas. Sheikh, if you please."

Though he should be listening, filing the information away at the back of his mind, piecing together the power dynamics between the heads and the new information on overseas HYDRA operations, Vision finds his mind wandering. Thinking about his own personal mission, the assignment to bring Wanda into the arms of HYDRA, their newest and most powerful soldier. A month of his nine has already passed, and he's done nothing to attempt to bring her to their side, only had her in his arms once since he promised Pierce he would complete this mission, and with each day that passes he grows increasingly nervous that she won't come back. That once was enough for her, and how drawn he is to her is not reciprocated, and he'll never see her again. Never kiss her, or hear her breath hitch, or watch her eyes flutter closed in response to the way he touches her.

"Bloom, figures on recruitment since we announced that it was one of our operatives that killed Bruce Banner, if you please," Pierce says, bringing Vision back into the meeting, and Bloom flicks through his piles of papers for the answer, nervousness in his eyes.

"Vision was right," he says, and a warm rush of smug satisfaction runs through Vision hearing the barely-concealed fury in Bloom's voice that he has to admit that. "Recruitment has risen by six-point-five percent since we took credit for Banner's death, and if that rise continues as projected over the next months it will negate the loss we took after the Maximoff attacks on our bases."

"Excellent," Pierce says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "An inspired choice to push our campaign forward, Vision, revealing your position in our organisation. And how is your progress with your personal mission?"

"I don't know if your men gossip as mine do, sir, but I've heard progress is going rather well," Malick says with thinly-veiled contempt, shooting a smug look of superiority at Vision. "Octavian and the Baroness will also confirm that a certain young woman of great interest to our organisation broke into Vision's manor and left a while later looking smug."

"Is this true, Vision?" Pierce asks, and Vision can barely swallow his fury that Malick would tell tales on him to their leader, as if they're all silly children in a classroom rather than the men and women leading the most powerful organisation in the world. "Has Ms. Maximoff already submitted to your charms?"

"I did tell you I doubted Ms. Maximoff would become to first woman to refuse me," he says, and the Baroness lets out a soft laugh. "And she has not. It can only be a matter of time before she surrenders and becomes a part of HYDRA."

"So how many times has the little witch come into your path?" Pierce asks. "How close do you believe she is to leaving her silly thoughts of overthrowing us behind and become our most powerful soldier?"

He thinks back on the time he has spent with Wanda, the hollow feeling that the refused kiss outside Avengers Tower left him with for days afterwards, the control she took even after he sent that anonymous note inviting her to lean into their want for each other, and curls his fingers into nervous fists beneath the table. "We have only come across each other twice since my decision to play out this plan, sir. And I don't believe she is any closer to joining HYDRA than she was a month ago."

Pierce's neutral mask cracks and twitches at that news, fury flashing through his eyes so obviously that Vision barely pushes away the human urge to cringe back in his seat. "Against my better judgement, I placed my trust in you," he says, voice so cold, and Vision straightens in his seat, trying to project superiority, the knowledge that he is better than anyone else in the room - though, deep in the back of his mind, he doesn't truly believe that. "And you are sitting here telling me that Ms. Maximoff is no closer to joining us? It's been a month!"

"Her resolve and commitment to her ideals is incredibly strong," Vision says, refraining from saying that he finds it admirable. "Rest assured, sir, this mission is the only one I am focusing on. Ms. Maximoff will join HYDRA within the next eight months, completely loyal. I will make sure of it."

"I hope you're right, Vision," Pierce says, and despite his benign expression a chill still takes hold of the room at his words. "I expect great things from you. We can only pray that you're not going to let me down."

After Pierce dismisses the meeting, sends the heads filing out of Malick's conference room and each individual guard following them out to the series of sleek cars parked outside the manor, Vision clings to the mask he dons around the other heads to appear as if Pierce's words don't frighten him. If Malick had said nothing, he could've lied, said he was still planning, rather than have to admit that he's already been with Wanda. Now there's nothing he can do but lean into the truth, and as the streets flash by on his journey home the thought of what might happen if Wanda never comes back is so terrifying that it rises in a feeling akin to nausea in his gut. If she chooses to never again acknowledge the pull of desire between them, he'll lose everything.

The corridors of the manor are silent, his men obviously caught up in relaying yet more gossip to the soldiers in other HYDRA households, allowing his fellow heads to continue to discredit him and tell tales of his exploits to Pierce. Irritation boils and spits in Vision's gut as he bypasses his office, ignorant of the work that needs to be done, simply wishing to be alone for the evening. Not for the first time, he wishes he could find solace in alcohol the same way so many people in this business he has chosen do, search for the answers to his dilemma in the bottom of a bottle.

Opening his bedroom door, absorbed in thinking about the anger that flickered in Pierce's eyes when he confessed to only having had two encounters with Wanda that have brought him no closer to his mission to seduce her into HYDRA's influence, he starts when he's greeted by a silken voice, the same familiar accent that has haunted his thoughts for weeks. "Well, finally. I thought I was going to have to get started without you."

He can only blink and try to keep his breathing even, dumbfounded at the sight of Wanda Maximoff, returned to his manor just after he had begun to think she wasn't coming back, barely-clothed and sitting at the edge of his bed, one leg crossed casually over the other, smiling as if she isn't waiting for him having somehow broken her way into the manor yet again. "I hope you don't mind that I made myself comfortable," she says, twisting her bra strap between her fingers and smirking up at him.

She raises a hand, red glowing around her fingertips, and the door slams shut behind him, sending him stumbling forward as the handle snatches itself out of his hand, and her eyes gleam in delight. "Wherever have you been for so long?" she asks softly, as her magic undoes his tie and coils it neatly onto his dresser, the red mist smoothing over his clothes almost like a caress. "I don't like to be kept waiting, Vision. Normally men are falling over themselves to give me what I want."

He's transfixed by the movement of her fingers as she slides his blazer off him, unbuttons his shirt one button by one, red folding both items of clothing and setting them neatly aside as he stares at her, the triumph in her eyes and all of the pale skin that he aches to touch, her lips painted in that same dark crimson and curving into a smirk. "So," she says, uncrossing her legs and tilting her head up at him, "are you just going to stand there? Or are you gonna get over here and fuck me?"

She crooks her finger in a come-hither gesture, and her magic takes hold of him, pulling at him, urging him to cross the room, drawn in by her bright eyes. Looking down at her, breath catching in his throat, he swallows thickly and she laughs in delight. "Good choice," she breathes, and grabs him by the wrist to tug him down into a kiss.

Bent uncomfortably over to keep his mouth on hers, choking back a moan when her tongue traces his lower lip, determined to hold the upper hand this time, he hooks his hands beneath her knees and slides her back on his bed, leaning over her as her hands trace down his face, his neck, fingertips tracing the edges of the vibranium that laces down his chest, following the path of the metal from his shoulders to his waistband. "What took you so long to return, Ms. Maximoff?" he asks softly, tracing a hand down her side to grab her thigh and hitch her leg around him, watching her chest heave with her shallow breathing and her eyelids flutter.

"I told you I'd be back next time I was horny," she replies sweetly, if a little breathlessly in a way that makes him thrill with triumph. "Sadly I haven't been able to find anyone else to help me out."

"Well, Ms. Maximoff, that's because no one else could hope to measure up to me," he says, and despite her dilated pupils and lips beginning to swell with kissing she manages to give a roll of her eyes and a derisive snort.

"I'm glad you think so," she says. "Because I can tell you there are thousands of men in the world I could be having sex with instead of you and enjoy it just as much."

"I assure you, every other woman I've had sex with has told me I am the best they've ever had," he says, and she shakes her head up at him, pity in her eyes.

"Honestly, Vision, with you being created from two separate artificial intelligences I would've hoped you wouldn't be as gullible as every other man blindly believing everything women say to you," she says, and he bristles indignantly. "Yes, we had good sex. But I've had good sex with other men. And you're not the best I've ever had."

"Then you're lying to yourself, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and leans back into another kiss, smiling at her fingertips gripping hard at his shoulders despite what she says. Pulling away, a soft breath that could almost be called a whine falling from her lips as he ends the kiss, he skates his fingertips down her stomach and murmurs, "Allow me to prove to you there's no one better."

Tucking her hair back behind her ear, out of his way, he kisses at her neck, nipping at her skin, and when he presses his hips down against her she moans and clutches at him, her back arching and her hips rolling to meet his. Satisfied that he'll leave a mark behind on her neck, he slides a hand beneath her back to unclasp her bra, lowering his head to kiss her breasts, every rasp in her breathing sending sparks through his blood. " _Vision_ ," she breathes out, and hearing her say his name makes him smile against her skin. But she still projects authority into her voice, rasping out, "I told you to fuck me."

"Please, Ms. Maximoff, don't think that I believe there is only one way to make you fall apart," he says, glances up to see realisation dawn on her face and her pupils blow a little wider. "That's not how I have women telling me I'm the best they've ever had."

"Your arrogance is exhausting," she snaps, but she moans and curls her fingers into fists in his sheets when he trails kisses down her stomach, and he smirks to himself, trailing slow, light touches up the insides of her thighs. "Oh God,  _Vision_. Don't tease."

"All part of the experience," he whispers, follows the path of his fingertips with his lips, listening to her rough, unsteady breathing.

He starts when she shifts onto her elbows, glaring at him, and snaps, "I don't come to you for the  _experience_. Either do something  _now_ , or I'm leaving."

The thought of letting her slip through his fingers yet again, what that would do for his already tense relationship with other HYDRA heads - and, in all honesty, the simple fact that he doesn't  _want_  her to leave - spurs him to pull her underwear down and press a kiss to her clit, thrilling at the broken moan she lets out, collapsing off her elbows and back onto his bed. Her breathing grows faster beneath his ministrations, her knuckles white her fingers are twisted so tightly in the sheets, and when he lets out a helpless groan against her she cries out, hips shifting and back arching.

Lifting his head from between her thighs, pride singing through him as he gazes at her flushed face, fluttering eyelids and open mouth, he isn't expecting her to jerk upright, anger blazing into her eyes. "Don't you dare fucking stop," she snaps. "Or I'll walk out that door and you'll never seen me again." Her hand wraps around the back of his head, pushes him back down, and she shifts beneath him, wrapping her legs over his shoulders. "Faster." Her single word is an order, no doubt about it, and he's confusingly aroused by how authoritative she is, obeying her without a second thought. " _Shit_ , Vision,  _yes_."

Just as during their first time, she trails into instinctive Sokovian, too fast and punctuated by moans for him to understand, but the cry she lets out as she arches beneath his mouth is undeniably his name, and he slides away from her clinging to his willpower, trying to calm himself down and keep his grip on authority. " _Fuck_ ," she breathes after a long moment of silence, and he watches her sit up, eyes dark and a smirk curling the corner of her mouth.

"I think that's sufficient evidence for you to say I'm the best you've ever had," he says, hiding quite how aroused he is, and she leans across the gap between them to kiss him, her tongue hot against his own making a groan rumble through his chest.

"Not a chance," she murmurs when she pulls away, still so close that he can feel her breath warm against his lips, trying to hide that he's trembling in desperation. "Though it's good to know exactly what your mouth can do." She slides a hand down his chest, grips him through his pants, and he jerks helplessly into her touch, eyes falling involuntarily closed. "But I came here with one specific thing in mind."

She pushes him down onto his back, kisses him again, and he forgets that he needs to have her pliant beneath him, whisper HYDRA's philosophy in her ear, losing himself in the softness of her skin and the way arousal whiplashes through him as she finishes undressing him, rolling a condom he didn't realise she had down over him and sinking onto him with a gasp. "What about me?" she asks, voice remarkably steady as she begins to move on top of him, sending all thoughts out of his head but for focus on her, the way her weight seems to fit so perfectly on top of him and her gaze holding his. "Am I the best you've ever had?"

"I... _Wanda_." He leans up on his elbows and tilts his head up, relief rushing through him when she leans down to kiss him, seeming so controlled against his desperation, the same helplessness he felt the first time she kissed him, simply  _needing_  her.

"Answer the question," she whispers, moves her hips a certain way that makes him lose his breath, moan her name and grip her tighter. "C'mon, Vision. You can't expect a lady to compliment you if you refuse to tell her the same thing."

"Yes,  _yes_ , you're the best I've ever had, Wanda,  _please_ ," he says in a breathless rush, and she grins wickedly, moving faster.

"Good to know," she murmurs, and brings their mouths together, letting out a soft breath of a laugh against his lips when he kisses her back desperately. "Are you close?" He nods, speechless, and she takes his hand and guides it down between them, pressing his fingers to her clit. "Can you be a gentleman and wait for me?"

An eager nod, and he finds an unmarked spot on her neck and nips, fingers circling her clit, and she gasps out his name, grinding down onto him faster and rougher, and her nails drag down his shoulders hard enough to cause a slight twinge of pain when she cries out and comes, pressing hard against him. Any grip he had left on self-control slips away, her name falling from his lips with every breath until it sounds like gibberish, and he clutches her closer and tries to slow his breathing against her shoulder.

She lifts his chin and softly says, "Look at me," and he opens his eyes to meet her gaze, taking in her flushed face and swollen lips and the soft smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "You've got something, that's for sure," she says. "But you're not the best."

"How can you say that?" he asks, and she gives a shrug. Kissing her shoulder, he smirks and says, "Your two orgasms would suggest differently, Ms. Maximoff."

"Vision,  _I_  can make myself come twice in one night," she says, climbing off him and the bed to find her abandoned clothing, leaving him to dispose of the condom and wipe her lipstick stains from his mouth and neck. "The best sex I've ever had would be with the man who made me come five times in the space of one night."

"Is that a challenge?" he asks, and she looks up at him as if startled, before her lips curl into a smirk and she crosses the room with an extra sway in her hips to stand by the bed, leaning down close to him.

"Perhaps," she whispers, and kisses him, drawing a gasp from him when she takes his bottom lip between hers and tugs roughly. "If you believe you're worthy of it."

"I am," he says decisively, and she rolls her eyes, bending down to retrieve her dress from the floor and hide the darkening hickies on her hips and chest beneath the dark material.

"Save it for next time," she says, perching on the end of the bed to buckle the strap on her heels and wrapping her cardigan around herself.

"So there will be a next time?" he asks her, and she turns to smirk at him, fully-dressed once again, crawling up the bed to lean over him, just asking him to begin to get aroused again, wanting to peel away her layers and ruin her.

"I'd hate to deny you of the best sex you've ever had," she murmurs, and gives him a lingering kiss, skating her hand just high enough on his thigh to make him groan against her mouth. Only at his groan does she pull away, eyes gleaming with mischief, and climb off the bed. "Until we meet again, Vision."

"A pleasure as always, Wanda," he retorts, and her laugh lingers on the air long after the door has snapped shut behind her.

* * *

Unable to keep the smug smirk from her face, catching sight of her ruined eyeliner in her reflection passing through the few shop windows on their street not boarded up, Wanda can't help grinning to herself as she climbs the stairs back to her apartment, so thrilled with firmly establishing her relationship with Vision. An insight to HYDRA, the way it works and the relationship between heads and the hierarchy and the power dynamics, all because she simply chose to sleep with someone she couldn't stop thinking about losing herself in.

And, no matter what she might say to Vision to rid him of that awful arrogant facade, their sex would be worth going to him for even if she was gaining no advantage from it. She understands why he gained a reputation as a womaniser, why other women with more desperation and less knowledge of how to use sex to play men like an instrument than her might have told him he's the best they've ever had. The more she breaks Vision down, forces him to forget HYDRA and his arrogance, the most she sees layers of someone else beneath, a man who she might allow to hold power when her and Pietro take HYDRA down and shape the organisation the way they want. Certainly, an advantageous relationship to have. She won't wait so long before returning to him for their next encounter now.

Opening the door to the apartment, she finds Pietro slumped alone on the couch, picking moodily at a plate of pasta and staring unseeingly at the TV. He glances up at her, but seemingly chooses not to comment on her ruined make-up or the hickies she knows are rising dark on her neck. "Hey," he says dully, and her heart twinges with pain to see her brother treat her like anyone else.

"I'm sorry," she says, and he straightens up, concentrates. "I  _was_  being a bitch. But...look, Pietro, I really need you to understand that I don't  _need_  you to protect me. Not anymore. I can take care of myself. But I don't want to go off alone, I want to stick with you because you're my brother and I love you. If you can't cope with that, maybe it would be better if we separate."

"I don't want to  _separate_ , Wanda!" Pietro exclaims. "We're supposed to take down the Avengers together, defeat Stark, make HYDRA fall apart and become some of the most powerful people in the world. I don't wanna do that alone!"

"I don't wanna do it alone either," she says, and steels herself to say what needs to be said, what's been going around and around in her head since Vision alluded to it. "But I  _could_. I'm powerful enough. If I wanted to, I could do all this alone. And I feel like you can't cope with that."

"Of course I can't," Pietro says immediately, and his honesty silences her. "You've always been my baby sister. You're the one who got hurt when our apartment collapsed, don't you remember? Your wrist took months to get back to normal, and I was fighting all of our fights for both of us. You were the girl when we were out on the streets, I had to keep you safe. When things got bad - for both of us - you were the one who imploded. Sometimes you'd barely say a word for days on end, do you remember that? And no matter how scared I was, I had to protect you, I had to be angry instead of sad. We were so close, Wanda. Before Wolfgang and Werner. Before we got these powers."

"We were unhealthily close, Pietro," she says, and he bows his head. "A few years ago, I would never even have thought of suggesting that we separate. It would've destroyed both of us. But now we can go, we can have our own adventures if we want to, we can be separate people instead of as co-dependent as we used to be. Doesn't that make you happy? You don't  _want_  to spend your entire life following me around protecting me from things that go bump in the night - do you?"

He shifts, huffs and finally says, "I guess...no, I really don't." She relaxes, smiles, and sits down next to him, and he turns his head to look at her. "But you have no idea what it was like, Wanda. When we got these powers. All your screaming, and when you were quiet you were so still, there were four or five moments I really thought you'd given up and let yourself die, and I didn't know what I'd do if I lost you. Then we woke up, and suddenly you were more powerful than me, and you were making eyes at Werner and...you're right. I really don't know how to cope with that. Sometimes...sometimes it feels like you're flying and I'm sinking."

"You're not sinking," she says softly. "You're a natural at this, Pietro. It works so well for you, this lifestyle. We've already achieved so much, the world is terrified of us, and we'll keep going. We won't stop until Stark is dead."

"And then we'll go on to take on HYDRA," Pietro says, and she nods and grins. His arm goes around her, and she leans into him, smiling when he kisses the top of her head. "So, sister dear, now that we've made up - are you ready to tell me who the hell you're sleeping with that has you coming home looking this smug?"

"No," she says sweetly, and knows that he rolls his eyes without needing to look. "But I can tell you he's someone that's going to give us an advantage in the fighting to come. I can learn a lot from him if I keep it going."

"There's a reason you're the brains and I'm the brawn," he says, and she snorts at him. A brief darkening of his face, and he looks mildly disgusted when he asks, "It's not that young HYDRA guy you marked up in the bar, is it?"

She laughs at the mere thought, and answers, "Of course not. Nervous twitchy HYDRA soldiers aren't my type."

"Good," Pietro says smugly, and kisses the top of her head again. "Boys with squirrelly little faces that run scared when we look at them aren't good enough for  _my_  baby sister."

Though she laughs at him, it's to hide a jolt of nerves that surges up at the back of his mind. Wondering what he'll do if he ever finds out that it's a head of HYDRA she's sleeping with. And terrified of how he might react if he knows that Vision is the head in question.

He might promise now that he'll stop being so overprotective and stop trying to control her life, but if he knows about her relationship with Vision, that even after leaving his manor only a few hours ago the temptation to return is growing stronger, she knows that that promise won't hold weight for very long.


	6. a something becoming more

**Warning for this chapter:** allusions to sexual assault.

* * *

Gazing up at the Manhattan sky, a grim grey between the soaring heights of buildings, Wanda curls her fingers tighter around her steaming mug of tea and silently misses home. Winter in Sokovia was beautiful, the winter of her childhood, white making everything pure, hiding the tension that would lead them into war before she was ten years old. Vague memories float up from the depths of her mind - her mother's smile, her father's deep laugh, sledging with her father's arms wrapped tightly around her, the scent of home cooking, her and Pietro curled up together like puppies while huddled around the heater, her mother smiling with such breathtaking affection while her father laboriously counted each berry on a sprig of mistletoe and insisted on the same number of kisses.

She blinks away the tears that have suddenly sprung hot to her eyes when the door clicks open and Pietro walks into the apartment, shopping bags swinging from his wrists and a cardboard Starbucks cup in each hand. "Bought you a hot chocolate," he says, yet another peace offering in the wake of how fragile their relationship has become of late, prone to arguments and long icy silences. "Did the grocery shopping for the next week or so. Got the mail."

Setting an envelope on top of the takeaway cup, he moves away from her, starting to clatter cupboard doors unnecessarily loudly to fill the silence as he puts packets and tins in their correct places. Giving him only a momentary glance before she looks away, refusing to be the one to apologise first when it's his overprotectiveness that keeps leading them into fights, she picks up the envelope, a subtle sort of warmth filling her chest at Werner's familiar handwriting. His monthly letters have been the only link to her old life, her old self, the person that she left behind in Sokovia when Wolfgang died. She's not the same anymore. Moving through the days like a ghost, not sure of who she is or where she belongs. Defined by her brother.

_Wanda,_

_I'm sorry this letter isn't as long as usual, but I'm having to change locations almost every day to stay ahead of the people chasing me. I don't even know if it's SHIELD or HYDRA after me anymore. Starting to wish I'd gone with you to New York - but I would only have slowed you down. Unfortunately, there's only more bad news to tell you. January will be the last month I'll be able to send you and Pietro money. What used to be my father's account has changed hands, and the money I ran with is starting to run out. I need to keep what I have for myself, to try and get somewhere I can disappear. Hopefully you and Pietro will be okay without support - I just can't give it anymore. Enjoy the holiday season. I wish I could be there with you._

_Yours, Werner._

"Werner's not going to be able to send us any more money after next month," she says, trying not to let a quiver of nerves in her voice betray the sudden fear that clutches at her chest. If they don't have that comforting wad of bills falling through their door every month, they might not be able to afford to continue living their same lifestyle. She can't go back to living on the streets, never sure of where her next meal was coming from, scared to sleep at night for the unknown lurking in the darkness, hollow with a longing for a place to belong.

"Let me see that," Pietro says gruffly, snatching the letter out of her hands, arching an eyebrow as he begins to read. "I see he's still acting like he's yours. Guess he's never gonna get over you ending it with him."

"What are we going to do, Pietro?" she asks, and her voice is trembling no matter how tightly she clenches her fists, nails digging crescent moon indentations into her palms, breath catching in her throat, getting caught in her lungs. "If Werner doesn't keep giving us money, how are we supposed to pay for this place? We'll get kicked out, and we'll have to go back to the streets, and never getting enough food or enough sleep and being terrified all the time, I can't do that again, Pietro, I  _can't_."

Pietro flashes across the room to take her hands, steadying her as her legs go numb with sheer terror and she stumbles, and his hands are so warm, thumbs caressing over the backs of her hands feeling like tiny flames sweeping over her skin. "We won't have to go back to living on the streets," he says, and his voice is so forceful, another promise in a long line of them, so many whispered words across the years. "I swear, Wanda, I'll find a way. No matter what it takes. We'll keep this apartment, we'll keep our lifestyle, it'll all be okay."

"But how do you  _know_?" she whispers, and she sounds like a child turning to a parent, hates how vulnerable she becomes when something forces its way through her defences, hates how her breath sticks on a sob that wants to leave her lips, hates how Pietro's anger seems to fade away and he becomes the level-headed one. She can't stand being weak.

"Because I'm your older brother," he says insistently, and she lets out a sound somewhere between a snort of laughter and the sob building in her chest.

"Barely," she says, and he squeezes her hands a little tighter.

"I'm serious, Wanda," he says, voice soft and gentle, eyes filled with concern and sincerity laced through every syllable. "I'm your brother. I will do anything to keep you safe, do you understand me? I would lose everything I have if it meant you would be safe and happy. I would  _die_  to let you live."

"I don't want you to die," she says, and he shrugs at her. "I want a practical solution."

"I'll keep up with getting money out of all the bored heiresses around here," he promises, and she nods slightly. "And we can steal. We can rough people up. We're self-fashioned supervillains, Wanda, we'll get money any way we can."

"And we'll be okay?" she asks, voice small and scared, and one corner of Pietro's mouth twitches upwards in a smile.

"We'll be fine," he says, squeezing her hands. "We don't need anyone except each other." Relaxing a little when she breathes out, the urge to cry fading away, he cocks an eyebrow and asks, "Couldn't your little fling help with money? You know, whoever he is. If he's leaving hickies all over your neck, he can damn well slide you some money."

Pushing away the slight spike of arousal at the memory of Vision's mouth on her neck, and the hickies still fading on her chest and hips, out of sight of anyone but her, she rolls her eyes at Pietro. "Just because you're willing to take money from the gullible idiots you're sleeping with doesn't mean I am," she says. "You're the man. You're supposed to be the one making money."

"That's a very backwards and unhelpful state of mind, Wanda," he says in a falsely scolding tone, and she laughs at him and shoves him away.

As he returns to unpacking groceries, whistling an old Sokovian folk song to himself, she reaches for her hot chocolate and rereads Werner's letter, an affection from another person's life unfurling in her chest as she reads his sign-off, melancholy gripping her mind. She remembers him so fondly, so eager to love her and make her happy. But even his earnest flirting and gentle, if clumsy, hands couldn't melt the ice around her heart. Even someone who promised her the moon couldn't make her open herself to being loved. Trusting someone with her heart. Making herself vulnerable to the possibility of being hurt.

She worries that she'll never love. That one of the tragedies that have dogged her life has broken her so thoroughly that she's hollow now, darkness where her heart is supposed to be. A vase without flowers to fill it. So beautiful on the outside, but cold to the touch and filled with only the dust of lost opportunities. Left somewhere in the darkness, alone.

* * *

"Sir?" Vision glances up from a pile of paperwork, all so recently delivered to his door and demanded back at his earliest possible convenience, pages and pages of black type so dense the words blur before his eyes, and barely refrains from letting his bone-deep exhaustion show on his face at seeing Williams standing in the doorway. "Mr. Pierce is on the line for you. I would've spoken with him myself, but you  _insisted_  that all calls from other heads should be brought directly to you."

"Yes, thank you, Williams," Vision says, voice taut with the loathing he can't hide for this man, the most vocal of all the men he's aware dislike him as their boss. "Make sure I'm not disturbed."

"Whatever you say, sir." Just preventing himself from rounding on the man, anger roiling in his gut, Vision walks away, slamming the door to his office behind him and taking a moment to breathe, calming himself before he speaks to his superior. He has to be level-headed and coolly contemptuous, to show Pierce that he isn't afraid of him, and will continue to handle his duties in the manner of the individual rather than march to every beat of Pierce's drum.

Taking a seat at his desk, adjusting his tie and smoothing his shirt to buy a few more seconds, he sighs to himself before hitting the button and watching Pierce's face appears on his screen, assuming his usual all business expression, setting the persistent thoughts of Wanda aside. "Always a pleasure to hear from you, sir," he says, and sees Pierce's usual deliberately still face, staring at him through the connection between their webcams. "To what do I owe this call?"

"Rumours, Vision," Pierce says, and Vision straightens up in his chair, forcing away the rising fear, turning his thoughts to hatred of the men within his manor who hate him, continue to imagine scenarios in his life that simply aren't true, letting the gossip grow and invade every inch of the organisation. "Persistent rumours that I keep hearing. I don't need my organisation distracted at such a crucial time by all this gossip."

"I don't see what the extent of these rumours has to do with me," Vision says, and Pierce raises an eyebrow at him. "I assure you, sir, I have told no one but the council of the details of my mission."

"But somehow everyone seems to know that you're sleeping with a publicly-known enemy of HYDRA!" Pierce spits, and Vision tries not to jerk at the sudden anger in his superior's voice, not to let any crack appear in his facade. "And not only that, Vision, but you're failing to bring her to our side!"

"I have a little over seven months left on this mission, sir, you can't possibly expect that Ms. Maximoff will already be turning to our way of thinking," Vision says, and Pierce rolls his eyes. "I assure you, I am doing everything I can to make her believe in our philosophy."

"Are you?" Pierce asks, and Vision freezes, gripped by a sudden fear. "Or are you allowing her to walk all over you, as the rumours say?"

"Ms. Maximoff has many defenses that I must break through before I can even hope to begin teaching her of our philosophy," Vision says, stepping around the question, not thinking about Wanda's weight on top of him, the sound of her voice, not distracting himself with thoughts of the best sex he's ever had. "Sir, if I may, I believe that mere seduction is not going to be enough. With your permission, of course, I would like to seek to give her a greater space in my life. The closer we become, the more trust will begin to grow, and it will be easier to convince her to join your great organisation."

"And what would giving this  _girl_  a greater space in your life entail?" Pierce asks, contempt laced through every syllable, and Vision bristles at the implied insult to Wanda.

"I would like her to consider herself my constant lover, not some one night stand I happen to have run into again," Vision says, and he's not performing this for Pierce. He genuinely wants Wanda to feel sure of her place in his life, to not think of herself as another in a line of women. He wants her to feel like she's special. "I would like to bring her to any HYDRA events which invite us to bring partners. And I would like to obtain money from my account in order to gift her a few trinkets." Seeing Pierce's eyebrows rise in doubt, he adds, "Flattering her with gifts will make her feel special. And if she feels special, she will be more open to manipulation."

"You'll have to speak with the Banker about monetary demands," Pierce says, and Vision nods in understanding. "As for the rest of your requests, you have permission to bring the Maximoff girl to any upcoming events. Having her surrounded by this organisation will weaken her resolve considerably." Gazing at him severely, he says, "But I expect results from this new tactic, Vision. Your position within the council is fragile. You know that. Failure to complete this mission could be catastrophic for you."

Only nodding in return, Vision signs off from the call and stays still for a long moment, knuckles white clutching the edge of his desk, imagining a future without this position. Where he loses everything, thanks to one decision. One moment in which he chose to give in to desire, ruining his life and wrecking all of his aims.

But he won't lose anything. Not his position on the council and his power and this manor. And certainly not Wanda. She won't leave him, not when he shows her some scrap of caring, showers her with gifts and makes her the woman on the arm of a head of HYDRA. His lover, powerful by association.

At the back of his mind, a voice whispers that Wanda on his arm, a simpering, pretty accessory to his power, isn't the Wanda he wants. That he wants the woman he already knows, he refuses to dance to anyone's tune but her own. He wants that passion, and that fire, and that power he sees within her. And that dominance.

* * *

Giving her reflection a winning smile with her newly-painted crimson lips, Wanda shrugs into her coat, pulling the belt as tight as it will go and sliding her feet into her heels. She finds Pietro slumped across the couch staring mindlessly at the TV, and he doesn't turn to look at the click of her heels on the floor, nor when she gets herself a glass of water or opens the fridge for a handful of cherries. "Pietro?" she says, and he twists to look at her with glassy eyes, and his mouth immediately curls into a smirk.

"And where are you going dressed up like that, sister dear?" he asks, teasing laced through every word, and she rolls her eyes at him. "You better not be going for a drink without me. You're obliged to invite me, I like vodka as much as the next guy."

"I am going out," she says sweetly, adjusting her hair one last time. "Because I'm bored of this apartment, you should plan the next mission and I want to see a certain someone."

"Well, don't do anything I wouldn't do," Pietro says, and she laughs, crossing the room to lean over him.

"I think my whole life will run more smoothly if I just avoid doing anything you  _would_  do," she teases him, and kisses his cheek. "Don't wait up."

"Wasn't planning on it," he says. "I don't need to see your smug post-sex face ever again in my life."

Slapping at him, she walks out of the apartment, unable to help smiling, even waving at their downstairs neighbour as she swings her hips around the edge of the stair railing. Even the cold rush of wind outside can't dull her mood, knowing she's going to see Vision again. For the short time they've known each other, and the even shorter time she's been having sex with him, she's become curiously attached to him. He's so different to Werner, the pull between them so much more passionate, brought together by pure lust. She doesn't even care to think of the men before Werner, with their hard fingertips digging into her skin and their roughness and their harsh breathing.

Werner's gentleness did something to soothe away those scars on her mind, and even this strange arrangement she has with Vision is doing something to help. It's the way his mask melts away when they're pressed together, skin to skin, when his breath hitches and he whispers her name like he can't not say it. There's someone beneath the impeccably tailored suits and the bravado, someone fascinating. Someone who lets her take charge despite being a head of HYDRA, who apologised for trying to kiss her when she didn't want it, who doesn't force her to stay when she leaves him behind, who kisses her like it's the most important thing he could possibly do in his life. Unlike any man she's ever met before.

Admiring the manor soaring against the pale grey winter sky, signalling oncoming snow that puts the excitement of a child into her mind, imagining how beautiful Manhattan will look blanketed in snow - however briefly - she shivers slightly as she approaches the doors. Lucky for her that she can stay in the manor for a while, wrapped in Vision's arms.

Pushing the doors open, sending a warning flash of red at the guard that steps threateningly in her direction, she catches sight of a familiar thin face and nervous, darting eyes, and pins her most seductive smile onto her lips. "Hey," she says, in the voice of the femme fatale the media paints her as, and the guard from the bar turns slowly, gulping nervously. "Timothy, right?"

"Everyone just calls me Forbes," he says, a tremor of fear in his voice, and she gives him a slight pout.

"Well, I want to call you Timothy," she says, giving him an angelically flirtatious smile, and he nods stiffly. "How was that date, huh? Must be someone special for you to turn me down."

"It was..." She tries not to giggle at his obvious discomfort before he clears his throat and continues, voice a little stronger, "It was lovely. Her name's Penelope, we've been seeing each other most weekends. Seventh date this weekend."

"Oh, seven, the magic number," she says, and two spots of bright colour spill over his cheeks. "Maybe this weekend will make the magic happen!" Running a hand through her hair, wrapping a strand around her finger, she says, "Anyway, Timothy, sweetheart, could you show me to your lovely boss? I wanna make some magic myself."

He blushes brighter, and gives her a vague gesture into a specific door. Smirking at him just to see his eyes widen, she pushes the door open and finds Vision listlessly gazing out of the kitchen window, papers spread in front of him, tapping a pen in a dull rhythm against the countertop. "You look bored," she says, grinning to see him start and his head whip around to look at her, seeing the light come back into his eyes when he sees her. "Good thing I turned up just in time."

"You are perfectly on time, Ms. Maximoff, work is so slow these days," he says, setting his pen down and standing, crossing the room to her, hands going straight to curve around her waist in a gentle hold. "You're cold."

"I thought you might help me warm up," she whispers seductively, and he grins down at her and bends his head to kiss her as she rises onto her tiptoes to meet him, setting her hands against his chest to balance herself. His kisses feel familiar, the same unexpected warmth of his lips, passionate from the first touch, his hands gripping her waist and pulling her flush against him, and he lets out a low, soft groan when she opens her mouth against his.

Curling her fingers around Vision's tie to pull him further into their kiss, feeling the way his chest hitches with the change in his breathing at the pressure, she smiles faintly against his lips and drops back onto her heels with a suggestive smirk curling the corner of her mouth. "Slow down," she says softly, pulling his grasping hands away from her hips and stepping back, watching the softness of his expression, so different to the arrogance she saw at first. "No need to rush this, Vision."

"I seem to recall that someone always insists on having everything faster," he says, arching an eyebrow at her, whatever mask he wears slamming over his eyes again and adding that sense of superiority to his tone.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," she says with a sweet smile, toying with his tie once again, watching his gaze drop to her twisting fingers then rise to her lips and stay there for a long moment of silence, laced heavily with sexual tension.

"I do," he says softly, and lowers his head to kiss her, parting her lips with a flicker of his tongue, and she melts against him, pressing her body urgently into his and winding her arms tightly around his neck.

"Sir." She barely restrains a frustrated noise when Vision brushes one last kiss over her lower lip and pulls away, glancing at one of his many henchmen, looking at him with contempt so obvious in his gaze that she wonders why Vision isn't reacting. "The Banker in on the line in your office. Wants to talk to you about negotiating your expenses."

"Of course, Williams," Vision says, and Wanda is hard-pressed not to laugh at how coolly contemptuous his voice has suddenly become, the man who rules over this household and these men and the underworld of Manhattan. Turning back to her, he spreads his hands in a gesture of surrender and says, "My sincere apologies, Ms. Maximoff. Do you mind waiting out here while I take this call?"

"Why can't I just come with you?" she asks, tracing her fingers over the buttons on his shirt with an angelic smile for him.

"Because I can't trust myself to resist you," he says, so softly, and she smirks and lifts her head to kiss him, running a hand down his chest to toy suggestively with his waistband. He pushes her away gently, breathing a little heavier and quietly says, "And that's why."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she says sweetly, and he shakes his head and kisses her once again, slipping the tips of his fingers just below the hem of her shirt to rest against the small of her back.

"No more than fifteen minutes," he says, and she pouts theatrically up at him. "I promise. I simply have to speak with the Banker about removing money from my account," he lifts a hand to brush his fingers against her neck, tracing over her skin down to the neckline of her shirt and sending a shiver skittering down her spine, "in order to buy something to fill this space."

"I'd rather have your mouth there," she whispers, and he freezes for a split second before leaning down to press a kiss to her neck, lingering just long enough to make her gasp.

"Fifteen minutes," he says softly. "Most likely less."

"It better be," she says. "Or I'll be forced to start without you."

She watches his pupils blow a little wider, dark with desire, and feels his breath on her neck as he says, "Perhaps that would make for an interesting afternoon." Kissing her neck once again, he straightens up and says, "Fifteen minutes. Wait here."

"You better make it worth the wait," she says, and he gives her a smirk so wicked that her knees tremble slightly.

"I might have some ideas," he says, and leaves her standing in his kitchen, leaning back against the counter and realising how fast her heart is racing. Trying to understand why a simple conversation with him can have her breathing growing shallow and a pulse beating insistently between her legs. Counting the seconds through the long passing of ten minutes, waiting for Vision to reappear and take her hand to guide her towards his bedroom. Prepared to see stars.

"Well, if it isn't the Scarlet Witch." Turning from tapping her nails against the kitchen counter, she simply gives a cool stare to the guard Vision called Williams, leaning against the doorframe and giving her a sneering look that immediately sets her on the defensive. "Seems like I hear your name twenty times a day around here."

"How flattering," she says. "Sadly, I can't say the same of you. All these henchmen just blend into one."

"You'd do well to treat HYDRA's soldiers with respect, witch," he snaps, and she scoffs. "Luckily for you, I happen to be in a good mood. The name's Adam Williams."

"I'll be sure to remember that next time I'm here," she says, patronising syrupy sweetness laced through her words. "But all I'm here for is your boss. I really couldn't care less about his lapdog henchmen."

"Don't presume any of us are lapdogs to that  _thing_ ," Williams says, and she straightens up, red sparking over her fingertips in response to the anger that hotly grips her gut to hear anyone talk about Vision like that. "Hasn't he told you? We've been spreading rumours that he's sleeping with you. Weakening his position within HYDRA."

"A truly great organisation wouldn't have time to be caring who its members are sleeping with," she says, and Williams gives her such a black look that she almost laughs in delight. "Now, you're going to leave me alone. I'm not interested in making conversation with someone who doesn't respect their superior."

"I would respect my superior if he had done anything to earn this position other than kill Bruce Banner," William says, and Wanda rolls her eyes. "All this womanising and making a fool of himself around more experienced members is just a power play. He has no idea what he's doing."

"Clearly, neither do you," she says, arching an eyebrow at him. "Surely it's rule number one of being a soldier in an enormous organisation that even I know is notoriously cruel to its own members? Don't tell the woman your boss is sleeping with how much you hate him."

"You could do much better than him, Wanda," Williams says, and his voice is softer, and the use of her first name makes her internally recoil, revolted, the fear of the girl who lived years of her life on the streets of a dangerous, war-torn country rising in her gut. "You're a very beautiful woman, you must know that. A seductress. You deserve a  _man_."

"I doubt someone insecure enough to stand here bad-mouthing their boss to a perfect stranger is more of a man than Vision," she says coldly. "Trust me, Williams - if I wanted someone other than Vision, I wouldn't have kept coming back."

"You should explore the options out there," Williams says, so close that she can't get away from him in any way that won't show she's afraid, trying to project out that cold mask, turn him away from her with attitude alone. "A robot can't possibly be enough for a girl like you."

"Sadly for you, and any of your pathetic friends who think talking about their boss like this is okay, Vision is the one I want," she snaps, pressing herself back into the counter, away from him. "He's enough for me. I don't need disgusting men like you fawning over me."

"You only believe he's enough because you've never tried anything else," Williams says, and despite the fear coldly creeping through the back of her mind she can't help a derisive laugh.

"I was far from a virgin when I met Vision," she says. "I have my standards. You don't fit them."

"I could take you to places you've never been before," William says, breathing heavy, and her heart is thudding with fear, cringing involuntarily away when he touches her, running a hand up her arm, the heel of his palm brushing against her breast and his eyes lighting up in a way that terrifies her. "I'm telling you, Wanda, I could make you scream."

She wraps his wrist in red, her magic spitting with rage as she shoves him away from her. "Touch me again and I'll destroy your mind," she snaps, voice low and dangerous. "You won't remember your own name after I'm done with you."

Footsteps send Williams rapidly backing away from her, but her skin is still crawling and her breathing shallow with fear, mind spinning with memories of the men who stood a little too close on the streets, who tried to draw her away from Pietro and his protection, who set their hands on her body just out of the realm of decency, who tried to kiss her. She weaponised sex because of those men, learned to dangle men on a string, wore the mask of a man-eating seductress to take back control. But it only takes one man to make her feel small again, a young girl living on the streets, relying on her brother's authority and notorious anger issues to protect her.

Williams has left the room before Vision returns to her, giving her a grin that nauseates her before he disappears back into the depths of the mansion, and she can't respond with much enthusiasm when Vision kisses her, her mouth going through the motions while her mind is occupied with twisting in on itself. "I officially have clearance to use HYDRA money to treat you the way you deserve," he says softly. "I do believe every HYDRA head's lover deserves something special."

"So I'm your lover now?" she asks, arching an eyebrow up at him, sliding into the security of the Scarlet Witch persona, wrapping his tie around her fingers to pull him towards her, watching his eyes grow darker with desire. "How old-fashioned of you."

"Well, what term would  _you_  prefer, Ms. Maximoff?" he breathes, toying with the hem of her coat, fingers slipping beneath it, tracing up the inside of her thigh.

"I don't see any need for a label," she says, running her fingertips down the length of his tie. "As long as we're in your bed in the next five minutes."

"That can definitely be arranged," he says, and takes her hand, pulling her down from her stool, and she follows him through the corridors of the mansion to his bedroom door, noticing him fumble with the handle, nervous. Her mind is still twisting, memories she's worked so hard to forget rising from the depths of her mind, and she reaches around Vision to jerk the door open, needing his mouth on hers, needing to be distracted.

Slamming the door behind them, she unwinds the belt on her coat, letting it fall to the ground, and kisses him like someone who wants to forget everything but the taste of his mouth. Pressing herself into him, the hard lines of his body, she feels his erection pushing against her hip, and pulls briefly out of the kiss to smirk at him. "Ready to go already, I see," she says, and he tucks her hair behind her ear and trails a hand down to toy with the hem of her skirt.

"You know how sexy you are, Ms. Maximoff," he says softly, and ducks down to kiss her neck, making her arch into him. "I do believe you use it to your advantage."

"Maybe a little," she says, and lets out a shuddering gasp when he nips at her neck, clutching at him. "But you don't see me in any other man's bedroom, do you, Vision?"

"I wouldn't mind if you were," he says lightly, but she feels him tense up against her at the mention of other men, and smirks slightly, lifting his chin to look into his eyes.

"Yes you would," she says, taking his hands and sliding both of them beneath her skirt, his fingers gripping her thighs. "You can't stand to think of any other man kissing me. Touching me. Fucking me. Making me scream. Someone else kissing where you've kissed, touching where you've touched, me saying someone else's name the way I say yours. Maybe someone who's better than you. Someone-"

She's cut off by his mouth on hers, aggressive and passionate, and him hoisting her up against the door, her legs wrapping around his waist as she returns his kiss, losing herself in him, leaving behind everything stirring up in her mind. Abruptly pulling out of the kiss, he starts kissing down her neck, and between kisses hisses, "No one is better than me."

"Prove it," she whispers, and he looks up at her with a gleam in his eyes that sends a shiver down her spine, and seemingly the next moment she's on her back on the bed, and he's laddering her tights pulling them off her, kissing her so intensely she can't think about anything but him.

"So sexy," he whispers against her lips, hitching her leg up around him and starting to grind against her, making her gasp and dig her fingers into his shoulders.

"You're sexy too," she replies, and he smirks and kisses her, swallowing her helpless moan. " _Vision_." Cupping a hand to his cheek, she meets his eyes and breathes, "I need you."

He kisses her once more before kneeling up over her, throwing his blazer aside and phasing out of his shirt, and she watches in awe. "How have I never seen you do that before?" she asks, and he grins down at her.

"You're normally so eager to do it yourself I don't like to show off," he says softly, and she watches as he takes the hem of her shirt between his hands and the material immediately becomes intangible, sliding right through her and solidifying again, and he folds it neatly and sets it aside, repeating the gesture with her skirt.

"That's a good party trick," she says lightly, reaching for his hands to pull him closer to her level, greedily admiring the lines of vibranium criss-crossing his chest. "Have you ever shown someone that before?"

"Of course not," he says, and she smiles smugly.

"I like being the first," she says, and he grins down at her, and the next kiss isn't as aggressive, though just as passionate. "C'mon, Vision. You know I don't like to go slow. Let me up."

"Why don't we try something different?" he whispers, and starts to grind against her again, untangling their fingers and looking down at her with eyes dark with lust. "An experiment. You might like it."

He kisses her again, moving on top of her, and she loses herself in pleasure, moaning softly against his lips every time he presses against her. But the pleasure immediately ebbs away when his hands grip her wrists, pushing them down against the bed, her mind recoiling from the moment, no matter how earnestly she tries to think that it's just Vision, nothing to be frightened of. He's just another body on top of her, too heavy, another voice in her ear whispering that she's sexy, that she'll like it, heavy breathing and hands holding her too tight.

"God, Wanda," Vision groans, and cups a hand over her breast, squeezing a little too hard, enough to hurt. "You are  _so sexy_. I want you. Let me have you."

Empty words, words she's heard a hundred times before, words she's tried to forget with the experiences that went with them. The scars she thought had almost healed rip apart, bleeding dark memories back into her mind, her breathing turning shallow with fear and she almost wants to cry. This isn't her anymore, that girl hiding behind her brother, never knowing what to do when cornered. She's an adult. She has superpowers. She's the  _Scarlet Witch_.

Red lashes out across her skin, responding to her fear and her anger, and Vision's weight flies off her, letting her blink the sudden tears away and swallow her fright and breathe right again. She sits up, snatches the sheets to her chest to cover herself, regain her strength, and looks at Vision sprawled on the ground, shirt off and pants unzipped, staring up at her. "Wanda?"

His tone, the high-pitched question, apparently not even realising that he was hurting her, provokes her anger, and she flicks her fingers and red laces around his hands, the hands that pawed at her and made her want to fall into nothingness, forcing his wrists together. "Don't," she snaps, her voice cold and dangerous. "You don't get to act like you did nothing wrong. How dare you?!"

"Wanda, I...I don't understand," he says, small and wounded and so  _innocent_ , playing the victim.

"You don't get to decide how and where you have sex with me," she says, drawing herself to her full height on the bed, clutching at the sheets to keep herself covered, feeling her magic roiling and spitting just beneath her skin, so indescribably angry. "You don't get to hold me down and do what you want."

"I wasn't trying to...I just wanted...Wanda, please," Vision says, soft, and a few years ago she would've fallen for the sweetness in his voice. Accepted the apology, the apparent regret, the promise it would never happen again and the gentle kiss to prove it. But she's not that child anymore. She's a grown woman who understand sex and pleasure and what she wants. And what is not right.

"You don't decide to pin me to your bed and have your way," she says darkly. "I am not some piece of meat for your enjoyment. I know what I want. I don't like being controlled. I don't want to be held down by some alpha man who wants to exert dominance over women because he doesn't like himself."

"I wasn't-"

"Yes, you were," she says, and drops the sheets away from her body, standing up to look down on him, helpless on the ground in front of her, tightening the magical bonds around his wrists. "You know how I know what you were trying to do, Vision? Because I've seen those men before. I've had them confront me when I was alone, try to hurt me. I carry those memories with me every day. The Scarlet Witch exists because of disgusting men like that."

"But I'm not  _like that_ , Wanda, I only wanted one day. One hour where I get to be in control."

"Then say that, don't just take it," she snaps, and he has the grace to look ashamed. "Because you don't get to be in control. Not of me. Of course, you can control this mansion, and these men, and the underworld of Manhattan, and whatever else HYDRA assigns you to. But you  _cannot_  control me." Bending low to meet his eyes, she snaps, "Do you understand me?"

Silence, and she huffs and looks away from him. "I'm leaving," she snaps. "I'm not interested in having sex with someone who wants to control me. I thought you were different."

"Please, Wanda." His whispers makes her pause in reaching for her dress, turn around to see his face, pupils still blown desperately wide with arousal. "Don't go. Please. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" she asks, and he nods. "So you'll stay there as long as I want? If I stay, I can leave you tied up?" Another nod, and she leans down close to him, looks into his eyes and whispers, "Can I make you watch me?"

"Watch you?" he asks softly, and she smirks slowly at him, reaching behind herself to unclasp her bra, watching his gaze drop.

"Well, since you did have me turned on, it seems a bit of a shame for me to just leave and wait until I get home to touch myself," she says softly, and understanding dawns on his face, and his jaw goes a little slack. "Not when I can tell you what I think about."

He jerks forward, and she backs away, the corner of her mouth curling upwards in a satisfied smirk, control once more returned entirely to her. "No touching," she says, enjoying every word she says, seeing him not even attempting to struggle, liking her being in charge. "Just watch."

She moves back to his bed, and he audibly groans when she slides her underwear down and spreads her legs, gasping as she starts to touch herself. "I think about you," she says, and he groans again, staring at her fingers circling her clit. "I have since we met. That night, I imagined you. How you would kiss me. How it would feel to be pressed against you. How  _good_  it would feel,  _fuck_." She shudders and moves her fingers faster, arching into her own touch. "And I only wanted you more when I saw you without that stupid disguise."

" _Really_?" he gasps, and she forces her eyelids to stop fluttering to look at him, see his eyes meeting hers in disbelief.

"You're sexier when you look like yourself," she says, and he seems momentarily stunned. "And after we kissed for that first time, I couldn't  _stop_  thinking about you. I've never wanted anyone so badly in my life. I wanted to feel you, kiss you over and over again, hear you say my name, see you come. I wanted you inside me." She slides two fingers into herself, cries out and jerks against them, and Vision moans her name, staring at her. "I wanted you to  _fuck_  me, I thought about it every night, but I never came close to how it actually feels. How good it feels, how amazing you are in bed, everything so perfect, it's all exactly what I like. You're -  _fuck_  - you're the first person who's been everything I want in bed."

"You too," he says, and his voice is hoarse, his words gritted out, and he sounds so sexy that it turns her on more, so close she's struggling to keep sitting upright. "Wanda, you...you look stunning right now. I want to touch you."

"But you won't," she says. "Because I told you not to." She catches a glimpse of him shaking his head, and the obedience is beautiful to see. "You must know you're good in bed - but you can't understand how good it feels to have someone understand. Someone who knows what he's doing. Who  _cares_  that I'm enjoying sex too." Touching herself a little rougher, closer to tipping over the edge, she says, "So many men refused to go down on me. But you  _did_ , and you really wanted to, and it was so good, Vision, it was  _so good_. Your mouth,  _fuck_ , and your  _tongue_ , oh God, Vision, I want it again."

"I want to do it again," he says, and she cries out, arching against her fingers as pleasure clouds her mind. "I would. Right now. I'd do it whenever you want. Nothing is sexier than you screaming my name."

" _Vision_." Their eyes meet, and she cries out and comes, grinding against her fingers, and Vision watches her quietly, and she's never felt so in control. It's a wonderful feeling, leaving her flying high, light-headed, splashes of bright white spotting her vision.

She comes back to herself after a minute or two, straightens up and realises that she lost control of her magic at some point, Vision's wrists no longer bound with glowing red. But he hasn't moved, nor does he attempt to while she finds her clothes, redressing herself and only looking at him when she's ready to leave. "You can get up," she says, and he finally moves, and satisfaction sings through her at his obedience. "I'm leaving."

"But...what about me?" he asks quietly, almost bashfully, and she glances down at the bulge of his erection, and arches an eyebrow at him.

"You'll just have to take care of yourself," she says, and places a lingering kiss over the plate of vibranium at the base of his neck, not moving away until he moans and moves to hold her. Then she stops and steps back, and admires his dark pupils and desperate eyes. "Think about me while you do it. I'll see you next time."

"Then I haven't ruined everything?" he asks, so touchingly earnest for a man obviously wrecked with arousal, desperate to come, and she genuinely smiles.

"On the contrary, Vision," she says, cupping a hand to his face and giving him a wicked grin, "I think this is the start of a new chapter of our arrangement. A better one."

She leaves him with those words, slides the door shut behind her, and walks out of the manor back into the freezing winter day, clutching her coat tighter around her. Grinning to herself and thinking about the beauty of Vision on his knees. Something to think about when the nights get cold and she needs to warm herself up.

* * *

"Package, sir!" Looking up at Forbes' familiar, bright voice, Vision deigns to give the young guard a nod as he sets a box on the counter in front of him.

"You seem in a good mood, Forbes," he observes, and Forbes nods, eyes bright with delight. "Any particular reason? I hope you haven't been offered a promotion, I need you in this manor."

"Obviously not, sir, I would never leave your service," Forbes says, and something warm uncoils in Vision's chest, making him want to smile. "And Rollins would never promote me. He hates me. Because I never join in when they all make fun of you." He claps a horrified hand to his mouth, and hisses, "I didn't mean to say that, sir. Of course no one makes fun of you. Ever."

"It's fine, Forbes, I know what certain people say about me," Vision says, and Forbes lets out a tensely held breath. "Now, why are you in such a good mood?"

"Well, sir, if you really want to know, I was with that same girl last night, the one you told me to buy roses for," Forbes says, and his voice grows faster and his eyes grow brighter and the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. "And we were walking after dinner, and Penelope turned and said that she really likes me, and she wants us to keep seeing each other, and she doesn't care that I have to keep my work secret. And now, she's my  _girlfriend_!"

"That's wonderful, Forbes," Vision says, and the young guard nods eagerly, looking so blissfully delighted that Vision thinks he might understand what people call love. It must be this, the helpless smiling and the joy dancing in his eyes. He's witnessing the part of the human experience he'll never get to have.

"What about you, sir?" Forbes asks, and Vision glances up at him in surprise. "How are things between you and Ms. Maximoff?" Tapping a hand on the box, he asks, "Is this for her?" At Vision's silence, he immediately adds, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't mean to pry. Forget I said anything!"

"No, Forbes, it's quite alright to be curious," Vision says, and the gratitude in Forbes' expression makes him pause, amazed to see someone respect him. "As it so happens, this is a gift for Ms. Maximoff. But I don't know when I'll see her again, so she might have to wait a while."

"You should give her a phone number, and get hers in return," Forbes says, so casual, as if they're not soldier and superior, simply two friends talking about life. "Then you won't have to wonder when she's going to show up again. Besides, you know where she is, right? You know her address."

"Well, I do, but I want her to come to me," Vision says, and Forbes shakes his head slightly.

"You'll never be successful with her with that attitude, sir," he says, and Vision can only stare in silent shock at this sudden boldness. "It took me and Penelope four dates to kiss because we were both waiting for the other to make the move. That's no way to live. Just go to Ms. Maximoff to give her this. Everyone likes getting presents!"

"Perhaps you're right, Forbes," Vision says, and the young guard appears to come back to himself, a blush spilling over his cheeks. "If you'll excuse me, I have a date."

Unpackaging the velvet-covered box from the cardboard it travelled in and tucking it into the pocket of his coat, he dons his human disguise for the first time in a while, staring at himself in the mirror. He remembers Wanda telling him she likes it better when he isn't hiding, and smiles slightly. Perhaps he is more tempting to her when he looks different. Not like other men.

Manhattan has been taken over by the spirit of the holidays, lights gleaming red and green and gold at every window, streetlamps strung with tinsel gleaming in the weak winter sunlight, and his footsteps crack the frost clinging to the ground as he follows his memories to the apartment block where Wanda lives, thinking about her. The box in his pocket grows heavier with anticipation every step he takes, and he imagines the wonder in her eyes when she opens it. Hopes it will make up for his mistakes the last time he saw her.

Rounding the corner outside a busy Starbucks, he sees her almost immediately, in a dark red jumper and a tight skirt, waiting at the counter and giving the barista a flirtatious smile that makes jealousy spike hot in his chest. Lingering at the entrance, he watches her, entranced by the way her body moves, her sweet smile and every time her hands moves, those hands he's felt all over him, bringing him pleasure he's never known before.

He softly calls out, "Wanda," over the jingling of the bell attached to the door as she leaves, and she turns around, and he sees that the liner on her left eye has been smudged by a snowflake clinging to her eyelashes, an imprint of her dark lipstick already covering the plastic lid on her takeaway cup, and his heart swells when she smiles to see him.

"I was gonna come by tomorrow to see you," she says, stepping closer, so no passers-by can hear them. "But you're here!"

"I couldn't wait," he says softly, and she smiles. A truly genuine smile. One that hurts his heart, it's so stunning. "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour the last time we saw each other, Wanda. It wasn't right, I never should've tried to push you outside of your comfort zone. I am so, so sorry for any pain I might have caused you."

"I'm a tough girl, don't worry," she says, flippant, then takes a long breath and says, "It's okay. You didn't know."

"I should have taken the time to ask the woman I'm having sex with if she was comfortable with what we were doing," he says, and she glances down, away from him.

"I think I prefer you calling me your lover to just being the woman you're having sex with," she says, and he chuckles softly.

"Then I want to give my lover something," he says, and pulls the box out of his pocket, her eyes widening in surprise. "And I promise you, Wanda, this is not meant to be asking you to forgive me. I simply want to give you something you deserve. I want you to know that you're special."

Opening the lid of the box, he smiles to hear her audibly gasp at the reveal of the necklace he took money from his account to buy for her, her free hand flying to her mouth in delighted shock. "Vision, you...you seriously got this for me?" she asks, and he nods, and she looks up at him wide-eyed. "No one's ever bought me anything like this before."

"You deserve the finest things in the world," he says softly, carefully taking the necklace from its cushion and gesturing for her to turn around, and she does, pulling her hair aside. "And HYDRA's money lets me give them to you." Clasping the necklace and placing a kiss on the back of her neck, he breathes, "It's almost as stunning as you," in her ear.

She turns around with her fingertips brushing over the largest ruby, resting in the hollow of her neck, and the necklace brings light to her face when she looks up at him. "It's beautiful," she says softly. "I...I can't believe you did this for me."

"It's my pleasure, Wanda," he says, and she pulls him into a kiss, slower than any they've had before, and almost sweet. A kiss that makes him crack, winding his arms around her, feeling like any other man kissing a woman in the street. Feeling something like happiness in his chest.

"You know," she whispers against his lips, and pulls away to look up at him, smirking wickedly, "I don't live far from here. And you came all this way. Maybe now is the perfect time for you to keep looking at me wearing this necklace." Lowering her voice to a seductive whisper, she leans closer ad emphasises every word as she adds, "And nothing else."

"Lead the way, Ms. Maximoff," he says softly, and she smiles and takes his hand, pulling him along the street after her.


	7. you say you're numb inside (but i can't agree)

**A/N:** Yay for a new chapter! I am hoping to have the whole of this fic written if not published before  _Infinity War_ releases. I'm anticipating this will end up being 12-15 chapters, so we are probably around halfway through the story! Hope you are all still enjoying the journey, and if you are please leave me feedback telling me!

* * *

Welcomed into the entryway of her apartment building by a blast of warmth from the heaters that have decided to work this week, Wanda smirks and turns into Vision's arms when he tugs on her hand, winding her arms around his neck, thrilling when his hands smooth down her back, fingertips brushing against the waistband of her skirt. "Can't you wait until we get to my apartment, Vision?" she asks, and he smirks darkly down at her and slides his hands down to curve over her ass, tugging her against him.

"You're irresistible, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and she smirks up at him, taking his wrists and pulling his hands away from her, backing towards the stairs with a deliberately exaggerated sway in her hips. When she crooks her finger at him, he immediately bolts across the lobby to her, and her delighted laugh when she darts up the stairs away from him echoes against the drab concrete.

"You're far easier to resist in that disguise," she says, shaking her head slowly and enjoying the shadow of disappointment that falls across Vision's face. "You could be any man when you look like that. I like you because you're special."

"That's one way to put it," he says, and she giggles, and he takes advantage of her stillness to kiss her, pressing her back against the railings so hard her back curves over the top of them, her fingers curled tightly into his lapels.

"At least you don't lose your kissing abilities when you put this ridiculous mask on," she breathes hoarsely when he breaks away, his hands solid at the small of her back, still pulling their bodies together. "But I want you out of it."

"Lead the way, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and she grabs for his hand and drags him up the stairs after her, her heels clicking on the concrete and her pulse speeding up knowing he's so close to her, knowing he'll be in her bed in a matter of moments, in her territory where she holds even more of the authority. At her mercy.

Reaching her door, she slams him up against the door and jerks him down into a violent kiss, her tongue in his mouth muffling a sudden groan. He grabs at her, pulling her closer, hand sliding down to toy with the hem of her skirt and slide beneath it, his touch like fire sliding up her thigh, distracting her from searching her bag for her key and instead concentrating on kissing him even more intensely. Only when he grabs her hard enough for it to sting slightly does she return to her senses, remember they're standing in a corridor, and grab for her key, shoving it haphazardly in the lock and pushing Vision back against the wood to jerk it open.

They fall through the door kissing, she throws her bag aside and wraps both arms around him, kicking the door closed as best she can. "Off," she gasps, half moaning it out when he starts kissing down her neck, tugging at the button on his coat. "All of it."

As if knowing exactly what she means, he breaks the kiss for a moment, and she watches the bright glow of the mind stone shine through from behind the disguise and his real self appear, and smiles up at him as she traces a finger down a line of vibranium on his face. "Almost perfect," she breathes. "The rest of it too.  _Off_."

He smirks down at her, lets his coat fall to the ground and kisses her again, and she grabs at the separate halves of his blazer and tugs him towards her room, kicking off her heels and throwing her coat aside as they stumble over the rug, too lost in each other to pay attention to their surroundings. Her knees turn to liquid when he starts kissing her neck, darkening up the bruise that's almost faded in the intervening days since she last arched into him at the rush of arousal that comes with his lips on her skin. "I need to have you," she gasps out into the air between them, electric with tension, and reaches past him to open her bedroom door, pushing him inside.

Pulling his blazer off him, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing both aside, she breaks the frantic kiss, thrilling at the whine he lets out at the loss of contact, to unzip her skirt and shimmy out of it and tug her sweater over her head, leaving her in only her underwear and his necklace, heavy around her neck. "You are breathtaking," he says, voice rough with arousal, and she can't pretend that some part of her doesn't melt at the compliment. Pathetic, really, to be charmed by that.

Sliding her hands down his chest, paying attention to the ridged edges of vibranium plates that he groans when she touches, she unbuttons and unzips his pants, and shoves him towards the bed until he falls backwards and she can climb on top of him, press kisses to every inch of skin she can reach, vibranium pleasantly cool beneath her already-swollen lips, the vibration of his groaning beneath her mouth setting a fire flickering in the pit of her stomach. "This is...a nice apartment," Vision grits out, punctuated by a moan as she trails teasing touches down his abs. "How did you come by it?"

"Werner found it for us, couldn't bear to think of me out in the cold," she says, and smirks when she sees anger flash momentarily through his eyes. "It would've broken his heart for me to get hurt after we had so much fun together." Smirking down at him, leaning down close to him, she whispers, "Does that make you jealous?"

"No," he says, and she arches an eyebrow at him. His hands slide up her back, tracing patterns into her skin, and unclasp her bra, dropping it to the floor and gazing at her for a long moment, and she tries to not be too proud of his obvious admiration. "I doubt that Werner von Strucker ever came close to being the best you've ever had."

"You'd be surprised," she says, and his eyes flash and he reaches up to jerk her down into an aggressive kiss, grabbing at her. Pulling away almost immediately, setting a hand on his chest to keep him still, she gives him a slight smile and says, "But Werner never made me scream. And I seem to remember that you said you liked making me scream."

"I do," he says, and she grins, her hands sliding down his chest as she sits up on top of him.

"So," she says, climbing off him and sliding her underwear off, letting her hands linger on her thighs to watch his gaze drop, feeling so powerful, in control, and all the more turned on because of it, "are you going to show me what that mouth can do? Or am I going to have to take care of it myself?"

He moves towards her, and she almost laughs in delight when she flicks her fingers and a band of red slams him back down, letting her climb back on top of him and smirk down at him. "Like this," she says softly, and watches his eyes blow wide, dark with desire.

Sliding forward to bring herself level with his mouth, lifting his hands to her hips, she breathes out a shuddery, " _Fuck_ ," when his lips touch her, quickly followed by his tongue, exactly the same as she remembers it. Grabbing her headboard, knuckles white with tension, she moves her hips and moans out his name, and he grips her tighter as she finds a rhythm, matching her perfectly. "Yes,  _Vision_ , yes! Right there!  _Faster_!"

His necklace is still cool on her skin, shifting with every movement, the jewels clinking against each other when she grinds faster against his mouth, chasing her release, and the vibration of his moaning against her makes her moans pitch higher, his fingers digging into her and pulling her closer. "You love this, don't you," she breathes, and he groans against her, the way he clutches at her a seeming confirmation. "You love it when I'm in charge. You love -  _fuck_  - you love putting your mouth on me,  _yes_.  _There_ , right there, I'm so close, don't stop, don't  _fucking_  stop-"

"Wanda?! Why is the door unlocked?! Are you okay?!"

When her bedroom door flies open, Pietro initially screeching then staring at her wide-eyed and slowly turning a shade of red so deep it's almost purple, Wanda has a split-second of horror that  _this_  is how her brother is finding out about her relationship with Vision. But the pause in Vision's ministrations is more frustrating than anything else, all she wants is to come with him at her mercy, and instead of shrieking she coolly says, "Close the door, Pietro."

"You...we're going to talk about this!" Pietro blusters out, then slams the door so hard behind him that it rattles the glass in her picture frames.

Vision taps on her thigh, staring up at her wide-eyed, and she simply leans down and says, "I said, don't stop. Don't make me repeat myself a third time."

He obeys her instantaneously, pulling her closer, and all her arousal comes rushing back as if the interruption never happened, her moans rising to a scream when she loses control and comes, bucking against his mouth, his hands squeezing at her hips until she detaches his grip on her and climbs off him, collapsing on the bed next to him. "How did you get so good at that?" she asks, breathless, and he just gives her a smile, a genuine one that melts her a little with how it softens his features.

"I just do as you say," he says, almost a little bashfully, and she smirks triumphantly, greedily eyeing his erection. "But...Wanda, your  _brother_  saw us!"

"He did," she says, and stretches out like a cat, lazily reaching onto the floor for her crumpled clothes. "Guess we better go and face the music." Leaning over to him, she drops a kiss on his shoulder and slides a hand down his chest to wrap her hand around his erection, smirking when his hips rise into her touch. "I promise I'll take care of you later. Get dressed."

Kicking her crumpled skirt aside, she grabs a pair of leggings from her drawers and wriggles into them and tugs her sweater back on. Se smirks at her reflection, noting with satisfaction the darkening hickey on her neck, and pulls her hair back into its ponytail, smoothing away the wildness from Vision running his hands through it, and wipes her smudged eyeliner away. When the rustling from Vision stops, she turns around and smiles at him, fully-dressed again, and stretches a hand out to blot a smudge of her lipstick from his collar. "No one would ever know you were under me five minutes ago," she says softly, and he ducks his head away from her. Bashful. Charmingly so.

Barefoot, she opens her door with a proud toss of her head, refusing to be ashamed of getting caught having fantastic sex. Pietro is leaning on the kitchen counter, knuckles white he's clutching the handle of his coffee mug so tightly, looking thunderous, but she ignores him for the time being, picking up her heels and coat from where they were carelessly thrown aside, lining her shoes up together by the door and hanging her coat up, shaking dust from Vision's where it's lying in a pile and folding it neatly over the back of a chair.

"Do you want a coffee, Vision?" she asks when Vision sidles out of her bedroom, subtly wiping the corners of his mouth, and Pietro's face contorts with anger. "I'm gonna have one. Could use the boost." She gives Vision a wicked smirk, and Pietro's gaze swivels back and forth between them several times, angry red creeping up his neck.

Standing on tiptoe to grab two mugs from the cabinet, aware of Vision's gaze on her, she finally says, "You're home early, Pietro," and smirks to herself at the thud of Pietro slamming his mug down onto the counter in frustration. "Date not what you wanted?"

"What the  _fuck_  is  _he_  doing in our apartment?!" Pietro spits, gesturing violently at Vision, stock still in the corner and trying to avoid even looking at him.

"C'mon, Pietro, you're not blind," she says, splashing milk into her coffee. "You saw what we were doing when you rudely interrupted us."

" _Interrupted_?!" Pietro exclaims, gesturing so violently that he sends his mug flying, and she rolls her eyes as she catches it before it can hit the floor, setting it neatly back on the counter. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"I think that you're overreacting," she says coolly, blowing steam from the surface of her coffee to take a sip of it. "I told you I was seeing someone who'd bring us an advantage."

"I thought you meant someone with HYDRA intel, maybe even SHIELD intel, not a fucking head of HYDRA!" he shouts. "He  _murdered_  Bruce Banner!"

"So what?" she asks. "Suddenly you're some big Hulk fan, is that it? He's been dead for five months. Seems a strange time to develop an attachment to him. Is it the tragic martyr schtick that appeals to you?"

"He's a  _killer_ , Wanda!" Pietro snarls, and she rolls her eyes.

"So are we," she says. "I've watched you knock people off buildings to die. There's a hell of a lot more blood on your hands than there is on his."

"He's a  _head_  of  _HYDRA_!" Pietro shouts, and she can't help rolling her eyes. "Don't give me that look, Wanda! He's the one who replaced Wolfgang! He's on the council! He's the one who came after us when HYDRA decided we were a problem!"

"You're just telling me a lot of things I already know," she says coolly. "You know what, Pietro? I just wanted to sleep with Vision. That's it. Whatever big explanation you're looking for, there isn't one."

"You really wanted to sleep with  _him_?" Pietro scoffs, and Wanda bristles indignantly, defensive anger rising in her chest. "C'mon, Wanda. Even that annoying HYDRA soldier would be better than him."

"Well you can try sleeping with that HYDRA soldier," she snaps. "I'm perfectly happy sleeping with Vision."

"But he's not even  _human_."

Out of the corner of her eye, Vision standing just on the edge of her peripheral and watching the argument build between her and Pietro, she sees him slump in momentary misery as the words hang on the air. Sadness flashing through his eyes, his shoulders rounding like he's trying to hide, the air of confidence evaporating from around him. And she sees red.

"How  _dare_  you?!" she shouts, red energy sparking at the tips of her fingers and her eyes burning with the rush of power. "How would you like it if someone told you  _you_  weren't human because of your powers?!"

"Look at him!" Pietro blusters, gesturing wildly at Vision but not looking at him. "He's made of plastic, Wanda! Metal and  _plastic_! He's pretty decidedly not human!"

"Your hair turned silver when we got powers, does that make  _you_  not human?" she snaps. "I can control everything around me with what basically amounts to magic. Does that mean I'm not human?"

"Don't be silly, we're both human!" Pietro says, and she rolls her eyes.

"Then what makes us so different to Vizh?! He's just as human as either of us!" Arching an eyebrow at him, she adds, "And, from what all your girlfriends back in Sokovia used to tell me, I'm pretty sure he's much better in bed than you are."

Leaving Pietro gaping at her, she crosses the room to seize Vision's hand and drag him back into her bedroom, slamming the door demonstratively hard and flicking her hand to shove her desk across it as a barrier. Pietro can find a way to force his way into her room if he desperately wants to apologise face to face. "I'm sorry you had to hear that," she says softly, feeling Vision's gaze on her. "It's bad enough you have to hear it from your own guards."

"You called me a name," Vision says, voice very quiet, and she turns to him, hovering awkwardly by her bed. She gives him a slight nod, and he sits down at the edge of the mattress, staring up at her. "You said 'Vizh'." She smiles slightly over his less than stellar impersonation of her accent, and he clears his throat and asks, "Why?"

"I was angry," she says simply. "I don't want people to talk about you like that. And I give nicknames, I just do. It's easier."

"Oh," he says softly, toying with the raised edge of her blanket instead of looking at her. "But...but I'm not human, Ms. Maximoff. Your brother is right. I'm made of metal and plastic."

"But you have a soul," she insists. "I can see it." He flinches, and she hastens to say, "I've never looked into your mind. But I can sense your soul and your mind without reading any further. That makes you human. Not a robot."

"I don't think that's true," he says, and he sounds so sad that her heart clenches for him. This is the man behind the mask, the man she's drawn to. A vulnerable mess of a person, simply projecting out the mask of the ruthless womaniser. Refusing to meet her eyes, staring down at her carpet, hands clenched together.

Sitting down next to him, his gaze still turned away from him, she smirks to herself, gazing at how stunning he is even quiet and sad on her bed. Pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder, running a teasing hand up the inside of his thigh, she murmurs, "No one who isn't human could take it as well as you do. Now let me take care of you."

Dropping another gentle kiss on his shoulder, the muscle flexing beneath her lips, she turns her head to smirk at him as she drops to her knees, pushing his legs further apart to kneel between them, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as she watches his pupils dilate with desire. His gaze never falters from hers, even as she slides both hands up the insides of his thighs, following the pinstriped pattern of his pants, stopping short of where he undoubtedly wants her. His breathing skips and shudders when she grabs him beneath the knees and jerks him to the edge of the bed, his hands shooting out to rebalance himself, eyes wide.

He breathes out her name, the familiar sound of the way his voice smooths over, " _Wanda_ ," making her shiver, her smirk curl up with satisfaction, and she leans up on her knees to kiss him. His hands go straight to cupping her face, fingertips curled against her cheeks to pull her closer, and she traces his lower lip with her tongue to hear his groan and feel the clench of his grip tightening on her. As she traces her hands along his thighs, he shifts restlessly beneath her, and his harsh breathing gives way to the soft rumble of a moan deep in his chest when she rakes her nails along his skin through thin fabric. "Please," he breathes against her mouth, and she pulls away, admiring the sheen of lust in his eyes and the softness of his lips, beginning to swell with kissing.

Dropping a kiss on the plate of vibranium beneath the shirt buttons she makes short work of, she pulls his shirt and blazer off him and tosses them aside, and breathes, "I want to blow you."

" _What_?" Vision gasps out, arching into her fingertips trailing down his chest, brushing the edges of vibranium plates on their journey to his zipper.

"Haven't you ever had a blowjob before?" she whispers between placing gentle kisses down his chest, fingertips trailing teasing touches along the insides of his thighs.

"As a matter of fact, no," he says, the words wrenched out in a moan when she traces her tongue along the edge of a plate of vibranium low on his abdomen, and she sits back on her haunches, pausing in reaching for his zipper. "No one ever wanted to."

"I do," she says, smirking up at him, and leans up to capture his mouth in a lingering kiss as she unbuttons and unzips his pants. He lifts his hips for her to tug them down without her needing to give him a signal, and she internally thrills at the obedience and the understanding between them, rewarding him by sliding her hand into his underwear to touch him.

He moans against her lips, and she smirks into the kiss as his fingers slide into her hair, pulling her closer, every miniscule movement of her hand greeted by another groan, his hips rising into her touch. "Tell me what you want," she whispers when she breaks the kiss, pressing kisses along the sharp line of his jaw.

" _Please_ ," he groans out, moving into her hand, and she withdraws her touch, and he looks so lost when he turns his head to look at her, blinking at her with eyes clouded with want. "Wanda?"

"Please what?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Please put your mouth on me," he says, and she returns her mouth to his, kissing him as she pulls his underwear down, undeniably turned on by the power dynamic between them, with her still fully-clothed and him naked beneath her, grabbing at the back of her head and hips jerking into her hand. Breaking the kiss, she pushes him down onto his back, gives him one last smirk when he lifts his head to look at her and runs her tongue up his length before sinking her mouth around him, his moan so loud she knows she'll never forget the sound.

His hand curls over the back of her head, not pushing or pulling, but only for a moment before he snatches it back as if he's been burned. "Sorry," he mumbles, and she pulls off him, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

"It's okay," she says softly, dropping a kiss on his hip. "Just enjoy it." Wrapping her lips around him again, she takes his hand to place it where he set it, and starting to bob her head, every gasp and hitch in his breath and moan he lets out spurring her on, his fingers tightening against the back of her head. But never pushing. Never even seeming to want to. He's not fighting her for control anymore, but simply letting her take charge. Like he should.

She takes him in as far as she can, tightens her lips around him, and jerks back when his hips thrust up against her mouth, setting an arm across his hips to hold him down. "Careful," she warns him, and the shame that flashes across his face makes something like joy kindle in her chest. "It's okay to enjoy it, Vizh. I just don't want to choke."

"Oh," he breathes, and if she didn't know better she'd think he was blushing. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I...I didn't know that was a danger."

"It is," she says, and smirks up at him. "Particularly with a guy as big as you are."

The bashful duck of his head turns into him throwing it back and moaning her name when she returns to her ministrations, more intensely than before, trying to bring him over the edge. Even when she takes her arm away from his hips, pulling her hair back out of the way and bracing a hand on his thigh, he stays still for her, only his hand gently cupping the back of her head moving. " _Fuck_ , Wanda, that feels  _so_  good," he grits out, and satisfaction sings through her at hearing him swear, so lost in pleasure. "You...you have to stop. I'm going to-" A moan punctuates his fragmented sentences, and he clutches a little tighter at the back of her head, fingertips scraping against her scalp. " _Fuck_ , Wanda, please! Like that,  _please_ , I...I'm going to come, don't stop!"

She'd never dream of stopping, of course not. Not when she has him at her mercy, losing control and giving himself over so completely to pleasure because of her, the fingers of the hand not in her hair twisted desperately in her bed sheets, and he moans out, " _Wanda_ ," when he comes with her mouth tight around him. Swallowing and pulling off him, she sits back on her heels and watches him.

Almost absent-mindedly, his fingers continue running gently through her hair, and the rhythm of his heavy breathing as he comes down is soothing for her. Leaning slightly against his leg, she traces the lines of vibranium running down his thigh, the raised edge cool beneath the pads of her fingertips, and they stay like that in a moment of quiet intimacy until he sits up, eyes still wide as he looks down at her.

"That was incredible," he says, and she grins, a helplessly genuine smile spilling over her face. "I...Sex has never felt that good before."

"Someone needs to focus on giving you pleasure instead of the other way round," she says, overwhelmed with a sort of softness for him. "You're good. You know you are. But I'm good too."

"I can wholeheartedly agree with that," he says, still breathless, and she giggles, dropping a soft kiss on his thigh. "Do you suppose your brother is still out there?"

"I can't sense him," she says, and misses it when his hand falls away from her hair to start dressing himself again. "I guess he ran when he heard moaning."

"I apologise for making so much noise," he says bashfully, and she smirks and kisses him on the mouth, tracing a hand down his cheek.

"It's flattering," she says, and gets carefully to her feet, suddenly aware of the dull ache in her knees. "So what did you think of your first ever blowjob?"

"Mind-blowing," he says in quiet awe, and she grins with pride. " _You_  are amazing, Wanda. I...Sex with you is always amazing."

"Same to you," she says, and a slight smirk curls the corner of his mouth.

"So I'm the best you've ever had?" he asks, and she rolls her eyes.

"Don't push your luck, or you'll have to be punished again," she says, and she hopes she's not imagining the way his eyes go a little darker with lust. "I'm guessing you need to leave?"

"Unfortunately," he says, and he actually sounds disappointed. Not playing up to a mask for her, but genuine. "Duty calls."

He finishes getting dressed, and she watches him knot his tie and button his blazer, returning to the head of HYDRA she first met. But she knows who he is beneath it all. The way he jerks when her fingertips trace along the lines of vibranium that lace his skin. How he stands so tall and proud but slumps when someone says he's not worth anything in their eyes. The sound of his breathing when he's coming down after sex and so relaxed. It only takes a tilt of his head and the way he blinks at her when she surprises him for her to know that something in her chest is growing for him. A softness. A warmth. An affection far beyond simply seeing him as a body to use for her own pleasure. She cares for him. In some way.

Flicking her hand to return her desk to its usual place, she slides the bedroom door open to an empty apartment, and crosses to the door with Vision. The mind stone glows momentarily before disappearing beneath his human disguise, and she tries to quell the swell of disappointment in her chest at the return of that mask. "I'd like to see you more often," he murmurs, and she wills herself not to blush. "Will you come by the manor again this week?"

"Yes," she says without hesitation, and he smiles slightly. "I want to."

"Then I'll see you soon," he says, and bends his head to kiss her, tucking her hair behind her ear in a curiously tender gesture. Too soon, he pulls away, and she looks up into the eyes that remain the same whether he's disguised or not with a clenching in her chest.

When the door closes behind him, she leans back against the wood, clutching the necklace he gave her still clasped carefully around her neck and trying to calm her racing heart and the hollow ache in her chest that began the moment he disappeared from sight.

* * *

HYDRA is odd. From what Vision knows of death, and of mourning, most people would go into decline after losing someone in their organisation. Even those without a personal connection would find themselves shadowed by a mist of sadness. Respects would be paid, the name whispered with reverence for months afterwards. He knows SHIELD has a board in their headquarters where they engrave the names of all those people who die serving their organisation. Privately, he wonders how many of them died at the hands of a soldier he knows.

But when news winds its way to Pierce that Doctor List has finally been discovered returning to his old ways of ferrying SHIELD secrets to HYDRA ears and was killed trying to run, none of that happens. No respect is shown. The doctor had no family, no connections in the world other than to HYDRA. But Pierce tosses even his name aside like it's nothing, never even mentioning the thought of a funeral or any ceremony to honour the fact that List died because of his work for HYDRA. The only honour offered to him is a glass raised in the meeting between the council called as soon as the news hit.

"Doctor List has served us well as a mole within SHIELD for the last five years," Pierce says, but his face is still frozen and stoic, nothing resembling sadness reaching his eyes. It seems only disappointment at losing his man within SHIELD dictates his words. None of the heads appear the slightest bit sad. "It's unfortunate that he allowed himself to be caught."

"The Avengers ought to be severely punished for everything they've taken from us," Malick says, seeming to relish in the thought of what that revenge would undoubtedly be. "Seven incompetent idiots should've been wiped out long ago."

"It is particularly frustrating that they seem to find it so easy to thwart us at every turn," Pierce muses, and something in his tone sends a shiver down Vision's spine. "Luckily, Doctor List's last communication tells us where the Avengers were planning to attack next. And we can intercept them there."

"What's your plan?" Malick asks, his eyes gleaming at the thought of more death, more murdering, further destruction of the Avengers. It doesn't thrill Vision like it once might have. There's little difference in HYDRA's mind between the Avengers and the enemy they've made of Wanda. He can't quite comprehend what exactly they've done for the people he's surrounded by to seem so hungry for their gruesome deaths. Other than oppose HYDRA for reasons personal to everyone's individual mind.

"Vision," Pierce says, pulling him from his own introspection, "you have killed an Avenger before. The only one in our organisation to do so. Will you attack them again?"

"Sir, if I may, I think I am now too recognisable to go out on missions against the Avengers," he says. "They know I killed Banner. If they even caught a glimpse of me, they would run in the opposite direction, and we would be worse off than we were before."

Pierce stares at him for a moment, for just long enough to make the air seem cooler with fear, then nods sharply. "An excellent observation," he says. "Better to have you behind the scenes, pulling the strings, someone the Avengers fear without ever having seen you." Turning his head, he calls out, "Brock!" and Rumlow immediately swings the door open, gun gleaming at his hips and the knife he usually polishes while waiting outside of meetings in his hands. "Can you prepare a team of your best soldiers to attack whichever Avengers are idiotic enough to attack our training base?"

"Yes sir," Rumlow says, spinning his knife over his fingers and back into its holster. Seeing the smirk curling the corners of his mouth sends the slightest shiver down Vision's spine, seeing how the people he's surrounded by aren't simply ruthless, but find enjoyment in killing people. Taking their breath away from them, staining their hands with the blood of people Vision can only perceive to be innocent. Perhaps it is not right to kill those who have done nothing wrong. Even if it is in order to gain power. People only trying to live their lives in a dangerous world shouldn't spend their last moments staring down the barrel of a gun.

When the emergency meeting is over, after another toast has been made to List's memory, Pierce beckons Vision to the front of the room, and his heart sinks like a stone in his chest. "How is progress with the Maximoff girl, Vision?"

"Excellent, sir." The lies trips blithely from Vision's tongue, as he mind returns to the memories of Wanda looking at him from between his legs, of her fingertips tracing gently over his skin without being afraid to touch the parts of him laced with vibranium, of her soft smile and softer lips when she kissed him goodbye at her door. Her insistence that she likes him better without the mask has been at the back of his mind ever since she said it. The knowledge that perhaps he isn't repulsive in the form he was born into. At least not to her.

"Really?" Pierce asks, and Vision gives him a decisive nod. "Well this is certainly good to hear, Vision. Do you believe her resolve is beginning to crumble?"

"I do," he says, and it's the first time in his life he's lied so blatantly. But he can't tell Pierce what's really going on between him and Wanda. That he wants more time with her, and more of her, and something at the back of his mind whispers that it isn't just because sex with her is incredible.

"Then you'll be bringing her to Malick's home for his daughter's birthday party?" Pierce asks, and Vision's mind goes off on a tangent all its own. Imagining Wanda with the necklace he bought her lending a glow to her face, her eyes soft on him, in his arms in candlelight with the music low and made for lovers.

"I haven't asked her yet," he says. "But the next time I see her I will."

"Excellent," Pierce says, and gives Vision the slightest smile that is somehow more chilling than any anger he's shown before. "I look forward to seeing the evidence of the progress you've made, Vision. Ms. Maximoff will be in our grasp soon enough."

"Yes sir," Vision says, and leaves the room when Pierce dismisses him with a flick of his hand, eager to return to his own manor. At least then he's in his own territory.

At least in his manor he has memories of Wanda attached to his furniture. Her presence fills the quiet, the loneliness of knowing how much the men around him disrespect him. The breathtaking sight of her in his bed, sensual and eager and beautiful, still fills his memory. He sees her eyes when he waits for sleep, remembers the scent of her skin and how soft it is beneath his lips. In the early hours of the morning, he aches to hold her. Something has changed between them. And it's a terrifying prospect.

* * *

Alone in the apartment, free of the awkward cool that has descended between her and Pietro, Wanda is tucked into the window seat, the chatter on the TV humming on in the background as she looks out into Manhattan. Many think of it as the Avengers' city, but to her it's Vision's. And hers. More and more people know her name, she has to be careful about going outside to avoid being recognised. Lucky for her that there are so many women who look like her, and mere dark hair isn't enough to make anyone stop and stare for long enough to get a call to SHIELD before she can move on. Though, if the choice was between being captured by SHIELD and being at the mercy of whatever HYDRA might have planned for her, she'd take SHIELD any day.

Looking out at the winter day, the cold making the city seem so pristine, glowing beneath the swollen pale clouds that fill the sky, she knows what exists beneath the skin. The criminal underworld, thieves and murderers, and HYDRA's grip sunk into the city like tree roots slowly growing through walls. Yet Vision isn't the first person that might come to mind when she thinks of the evils of HYDRA. There's a lightness inside him that she senses every time they're together, something real and gentle and aching to come to his surface. She's seen it, in the moments after sex when he looks at her like he's seeing her for the first time, such wonder in his eyes that she feels the pull towards him. He's not a head of HYDRA. Not in the sense of being remorseless and ruthless and evil.

The theme of the news blaring out from the TV's speakers make her start, twisting in the window seat to watch a solemn face bloom onto the screen, the newsreader in a crisp shirt and a neat black tie, a hopeless sort of sadness in their eyes. "We are receiving official reports of further tragedies befalling the Avengers team," he says, tone all business laced with the pain Wanda has come to realise will always come when the Avengers are attacked, since they're such heroes to the world. "In an attack on a HYDRA training base last night, Colonel James Rhodes, also known as the War Machine, was killed by the infamous HYDRA soldier Brock Rumlow. Another senseless loss of an international hero. His state funeral will be held on the 27th of December."

Clearing his throat and shuffling his papers, the reporter continues, "Coming so soon after the loss of Doctor Bruce Banner in August, this blow has proved to be too much for Tony Stark, one of the leaders of the team. He has officially resigned from the team, abandoned their home and is on the run from SHIELD. Director Nicholas Fury has assured the public that Stark is not dangerous, simply a broken and desperate man. Any sightings of him should be called in to this number."

Even after the newsreader and the SHIELD hotline number disappear from the screen, back to the antiques shows she had playing as background noise, Wanda still stares at the flickering images, unable to even begin to comprehend what's happened. The Avengers are torn apart again by another death. Everyone who predicted that Banner's death would break Stark was right. He's left the Avengers, left SHIELD, completely broken down. If she could find him now, it would be so easy to get rid of him.

But something in her wants to feel compassion for him. A touch of empathy. The girl she used to be, before the powers, before she was made of crackling scarlet and heavy eyeliner and the projection of a flirtatious, dangerous femme fatale. She can understand how it feels for him to lose someone so close to his heart. She remembers how badly she wanted to give up, how she ached to run and to forget everything. How desperately she wanted to lose herself and everything that connected her to her pain.

Stark is gone now. That leaves the Avengers with five members, and SHIELD no doubt scrambling their resources to both finance a funeral for Rhodes and set their best to finding Stark and bringing him back to the arms of the organisation. What they might do with him, she's not sure, but she imagines it will involve some form of therapy. For his inevitable survivor's guilt. Stark has lost his two closest friends in a matter of months. At least when she lost her parents it was both of them together, a swift drop of the axe.

Looking out at the city again, her mind begins to wander, thinking about the Avengers. HYDRA's attacks on them are growing crueller, and she's glad that they've seemingly backed off from attacking her and Pietro. It quite possibly is because of her and Vision's relationship that HYDRA has left them alone of late. HYDRA must know by now that Vision is sleeping with her - and she can't help but raise an eyebrow at the thought that HYDRA would care who one of its heads is sleeping with. It seems like a waste of valuable time to her.

She squeals and jerks back when Vision's face suddenly appears at her window, nearly falling out of her seat. Scrabbling to open the stiff lock, chipping her nail polish on the rusted handle, she opens the door to a blast of freezing air whipping through the apartment, tugging at her hair and her clothes. "What are you  _doing_  here?!" she exclaims.

"I couldn't wait any longer to see you," he says, and leans closer. "May I come in?"

Getting gracefully to her feet, Wanda watches in awe as Vision phases through the layers of concrete into her apartment, settling on the floor and pulling her window shut, glancing at her. "You're still wearing my necklace," he says softly, and she instinctively lifts a hand to brush against the rubies warm against her skin.

"I've hardly taken it off," she says, and he smiles. "Pietro's not here. Why did you come by?"

"I wanted to check you were alright," he says, and some part of her heart melts. "The HYDRA attacks last night were brutal. And they always promise that they wouldn't go after you or your brother but I'm surrounded by liars and killers. I never know who's telling me the truth."

"I'm fine," she says, and the way he looks at her sets her heart beating a little faster. "HYDRA hasn't come near me or Pietro. I'm guessing you have something to do with it."

"I hope that no one would dare attack you as long as we have a connection," he says, and though the lack of certainty frightens her a little she melts to know that he cares. "While I'm here, Ms. Maximoff, I have a question." Shifting on his feet, and reaching for her hand, he says, "One of the other heads is having a birthday party for his daughter soon, and it's going to be an evening where everyone associated with HYDRA gathers under one roof. I was wondering if you would perhaps come with me? As my date?"

" _Oh_ ," she breathes softly. "I...I'm flattered, Vizh. But won't the other people in HYDRA be even more horrible to you if you bring me along to a HYDRA events?"

"Soldiers won't dare to say anything negative while every head is in the room," Vision assures her. "And other heads won't speak against me as long as Pierce still values me being on the council." Lacing their fingers together in a way that feels so tender, he says, "Please come with me."

"I don't have anything appropriate for a fancy HYDRA ball," she says, trying one last protest.

"I'll take you somewhere to buy a dress worthy of how stunning you are," he says, and she gives in and raises her head to kiss him, sinking into the familiarity of his lips on hers.

"Then I'll come," she says when she pulls away, and he smiles at her so genuinely that her heart skips a beat.

"I'll look forward to it," he says. "I'm going to have the most stunning, powerful woman in the room on my arm. And there's not a thing anyone can do to stop me bringing you."

"You sound smug about that," she says, and he smirks and kisses her again, pulling her close. As his arms wind around her, and his tongue traces her lower lip, and she groans softly against his mouth, something icy in her chest begins to melt.

He's certainly not just the head of HYDRA that she's having sex with for fun alone anymore. He's something more to her, a part of her life, looking down at his eyes wide and dark with desire a routine in her week. When she steers him into her bedroom, strips him down and shoves him onto the bed, all she truly wants to do is take care of him. To reassure him that what HYDRA thinks of him isn't true.

And when she leans down to kiss him and whisper, "Come with me," against his lips it feels like another boundary between them shatters as he bucks and moans beneath her. She cares about him. In a way different to anyone she's cared for before. And she doesn't know what is it, but as she traces the lines of vibranium on his chest and presses a soothing kiss to his shoulder as he shudders with his coming down she can't help thinking that it's more important than anything she's felt before.


	8. the green-eyed monster

**Warning:** mentions of psychological torture and voyeurism without consent in this chapter

* * *

"...a senseless tragedy. The entire nation mourns Colonel Rhodes." Fury's knuckles are tight on the microphone he's holding, a sea of reporters in their dark clothes watching him, the grey of the day disturbed by the occasional camera flash that momentarily distorts the picture on Vision's computer screen. "SHIELD expresses our profound regret that we were unable to offer enough protection for our Avengers. There is nothing my agency regrets more than losing both Bruce Banner and James Rhodes. Our thoughts and prayers are with their families, friends and fans."

"Director Fury!" Expression hidden by tinted sunglasses, long coat moving in the wind, Fury stands patient until a reporter asks, "is SHIELD going to target Brock Rumlow specifically after this murder?"

Vision wonders if he imagined the brief clenching of Fury's jaw, and hears the slightest quiver of anger as he answers, "Our best field agents are searching for Rumlow as we speak. Rest assured, the world will not lose another genuinely good person at his hands."

The director of SHIELD steps back from being at the mercy of the crowd of reporters, to stand with the group of people Vision knows by name, knows as some of the greatest enemies HYDRA has to face. Maria Hill, Fury's deputy, hair pulled tightly back, long black coat making her look so pale. Steve Rogers, military medals shining on his chest, head bowed. Sam Wilson, openly crying, wiping his eyes with the end of his grey scarf. Thor, hair braided in the traditional style of Asgardian mourning, usual red cape traded for black. Clint Barton, standing still and staring straight ahead. Natasha Romanoff, her hand curled over Barton's elbow, her hair almost offensively bright against all the black.

The Avengers, with the director and deputy director who introduced that team to the world. Missing three of their members. Banner and Rhodes dead and buried and mourned by the world, and Stark so destroyed by those two deaths that he's disappeared into nothingness, despite so many searching for him. HYDRA's greatest enemies, always trying to destroy the great organisation, burn it to the ground so it can never rise again. He should hate them. Looking at them should fill him with anger and bloodlust and the fervent desire to see a line of gravestones commemorating each of them.

But watching them with eyes clouded by sadness, mourning for the loss of someone who seemed to be more than just a teammate - a friend - Vision can't find any spark to light the fire of hatred. No matter how deep within himself he searches, it's not anger that rises in his chest. It's a pang of something. Perhaps sympathy. Perhaps a hollowness that he's associated himself with an organisation that would never feel a loss so strongly. If Malick were to die tomorrow, HYDRA would never call it a senseless tragedy, the loss of a hero. Pierce would make a single toast in a council meeting, and within a month the name Gideon Malick would be resigned to the endless list of people who sacrificed their lives fighting for the superior world HYDRA wants to see.

If he died tomorrow, HYDRA wouldn't mourn. There'd be no funeral, no glossy coffin, no graveside for people to visit to pay their respects. Pierce would just move on, find someone else to fill his seat on the council, and no one would remember him as anything more than the operative who killed Bruce Banner. Who watched the light fade from his eyes, saw his body ashen and limp and still on the floor of the Avengers compound, watched the flames greedily consume the entire building, sparks flying up into the night to match the stars.

Watching the misery on the faces of the Avengers, Wilson still shedding tears while Rogers talks to the crowds at large about loss and moving on and the future plans for the world's superheroes, something hot and uncomfortable spikes at the back of Vision's mind. The same way he felt after inadvertently upsetting Wanda and watching her storm out of the manor. Guilt. He regrets murdering Banner, even though he's always blamed it on simple instinct chiming in and making him do it. But he chose murder. He had two options, and he chose to slink into the shadows, to be cruel.

Where would he be now if he'd simply chosen the safer option? If he'd spoken to Banner, explained who he was and where he came from? Maybe he would've become part of SHIELD. An Avenger, even. One of the world's greatest heroes, part of that team with their gadgets and camaraderie and fame. But then, if he was an Avenger, he'd never have met Wanda.

Another enemy of HYDRA. Someone else Pierce and Malick and Bloom and the Baroness and everyone else he sits on the council with want dead. If the Avengers weren't continuing to soldier through their losses, HYDRA's attentions would be on Wanda and her brother, bringing them into the organisation or seeing them dead. And thinking of that makes his throat close up, panic grow cold in his chest, his heart drop.

He can't bear to think of HYDRA killing Wanda. Though he knows, somewhere deep inside, that she will never join them, that no amount of compliments and gifts and sex will ever convince her to abandon her principals and become a soldier for anyone but herself, the thought that she'll die if she doesn't is unpleasantly real. They'd send Rumlow after her, with his guns and his knives and his bare hands, and she wouldn't survive. She'd be gone from the world. From  _his_ world.

The thought of never seeing her again hurts worse than he expected, enough to be shocking. He can't help imagining her bright eyes dulled by death, her skin cold and grey, her beauty hidden beneath the ground. He'd never hear her voice again, teasing and flirting, the way she breathes his name etched on his memory. She'd never appear at his door again, lifting the air and making the day so much better with nothing more than a soft smile.

Losing her would mean losing all the colour from his world.

* * *

Toying with the largest ruby on her necklace, Wanda bites at her lip anxiously as another car drives straight past the entrance to her building, glancing at the clock again. Vision promised he'd pick her up at three, and there's only one minute left. The most cynical part of her mind hisses that she's acting like a fifteen year old again, waiting for Andrei or Isaac or Tobias to appear and sweep her out for the evening. She's too proud to even admit aloud how long she spent choosing her clothes, that she moved so close to the mirror she was almost nose to nose with her reflection in order to perfect her make-up, or that she's been sitting in the same position almost shaking with anticipation for hours.

It's all just the appeal of a rich man spending money on her. It's a thrill she's never had before, except for a little with Werner, when he tried to buy the nicer flowers and give her draughty room in Strucker's castle some human comforts. She already has the necklace from Vision, real jewels, and now she'll be getting a no doubt ludicrously expensive dress bought for her. More money than would probably have kept the household for a month when she was a child, being thrown away on clothes. That's what's making electricity spark down her spine and excitement bubble in her belly, making it too difficult to eat.

But when a sleek black car pulls up outside the door, she bolts out of the apartment, barely remembering to lock the door behind her, heels clacking against the concrete stairs, necklace rattling against her collarbones. Slowing down just in time to attempt to look nonchalant, she pushes the door open to find Vision waiting for her, impeccably dressed, human disguise in place but eyes as blue as ever, lighting up when he sees her.

"You look stunning," he says softly, lacing their fingers together and pulling her in for a lingering kiss. She melts into him, like some teenager, all of the tension in her life simply fading away at his lips on hers.

"I wish you didn't have to wear this disguise," she says, giving him a theatrical pout, and he chuckles, looping her hair gently back behind her ear.

"I can't go out in public without it," he says, even when she bats her eyelashes up at him. "I'm a little recognisable, Wanda."

"I know," she says, and kisses him again, briefly. "But I like you better without all of this." She tugs suggestively on his tie, the corner of her mouth curling up in a smirk, and watches his pupils dilate with desire.

"Later," he promises, eyes gleaming, and takes her hand, opening the car door for her in a gesture that makes her heart flutter.

"I would've thought a head of HYDRA would have a personal driver," she says when he gets into the driver's seat, glancing in the wing mirror to check her hair is still lying neatly. "Did the budget not stretch to giving you one?"

"I have one," he says, like the arrogant man she first met, then looks at her, and his eyes soften and a slight smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and her breath catches in her throat when he takes her hand and raises it to his lips to press a kiss to her palm, their eye contact electric. "I want it to be just us today."

Cupping her hand to his cheek, she pulls him in for a lingering kiss, and feels him relax into her, as if he's forgetting where they are. Despite the way he's twisted across the gearshift, he still curls a hand around her waist, and she kisses from his mouth down his neck, his grip on her tightening momentarily before he breathes a soft, "Behave, Ms. Maximoff."

"Don't tell me what to do," she retorts, smirking to herself as she slides a hand over his thigh, moving her fingers slowly up the seam of his slacks until his fingers slide through hers and move them away, and he gently pushes her back.

"Later," he says, and leans back in the driver's seat, revving the engine. But his breathing is still uneven, his eyes darkened with want, and she has to bite her lip to hide her smirk.

The boutique Vision pulls the car up outside is obviously ludicrously expensive, with the minimalist window displays, pristinely polished glass and soft lighting she envies whenever she walks down one of the more high-class Manhattan streets, feeling as if even breathing the air in a hundred-foot radius is costing her a price she can't afford. But not today. Someone else is paying the bill, and he's rushing out of the car to open the door for her and take her hand to help her climb out gracefully, winding his arm around her when she shivers in a sudden gust of cold air.

Soft classical music greets her when the door swings open, and a scent on the air that she can only describe as expensive. Some semblance of child-like wonder must shine in her eyes, because Vision chuckles softly and kisses her temple in a curiously intimate gesture. "Your first time?" he asks softly, and she nods.

"I never dreamed I'd ever set foot in a place like this," she says, a slight sadness invading her words, remembering years and years of never having enough money to have heat or enough to eat. Having to be so careful, every penny accounted for - and now she's standing in a store when nothing can possibly cost less than a hundred dollars, on the arm of a man who could afford to buy her real rubies.

"Well I'm glad I'm the one to bring you here," he says, and steers her over the polished hardwood floors towards what she assumes have to be the dressing rooms - far more luxurious than any she's ever seen before, more than just a rail and a curtain and a mirror smeared with fingerprints and unflattering lighting. Soft lighting and a real door and mirrors in fancy curlicued frames.

She's distracted from her admiration when the clack of heels on the floor breaks through her daydream, and she looks up to see exactly the kind of woman she'd imagine working in a shop like this approaching them. Obviously fake platinum blonde hair, all black outfit, impractically high heels, and a look of superiority in her eyes. "Welcome, ma'am, do you have an appointment?" she asks, and even her voice sets Wanda's teeth on edge offended.

"Under the name Shade," Vision says smoothly, and the woman's gaze switches to him, and her jaw drops slightly.

" _Vision_?" she gasps, and Wanda's gaze whips between them, anger creeping hot up the back of her neck.

"Nora," Vision says, with an acknowledging nod, and jealousy spikes hot in Wanda's chest when the woman steps forward and lifts her head to press a kiss to Vision's cheek, her eyes gleaming.

"I was just thinking about you last night," she says, looking up at him from underneath her lashes, and anger lashes through Wanda so strongly that red sparks at her fingertips. "I missed you."

"I'm sure," Vision says, with a hint of that superior arrogance in his voice, that man who insisted he was the best sex any woman could ever had. Not who she sees. Who she wants.

Seeing someone else's hand close over Vision's forearm ignites fury in her, she feels her eyes flash red, and with a jet of magic so subtle she knows no one will notice Nora stumbles over her stupidly high shoes and away from Vision, and Wanda jerks him down into a heated kiss, digging her nails into the back of his neck and feeling the vibration of a groan in his chest where their bodies are pressed together. Flickering her tongue against his once, she nips at his lower lip for the satisfaction of another groan before she pulls away, admiring his dazed eyes. "Babe," she says pointedly, "we haven't got long, remember?"

"Of course, darling," Vision says, and whether he's playing into the role or not she still gets a flutter of excitement in her chest at the nickname. "Ms. Baxter, if you could bring out the options I asked for?

"Of course, sir," Nora says, an ugly flush rising in her neck that Wanda notes with vindictive satisfaction before she turns and walks towards a back room, and she pulls Vision through the door into a private dressing room. There's a champagne bottle waiting in a bucket of ice, silks draped over the walls, and a rail awaiting dresses for her to try on. And a couch. Which is what she cares about.

Stepping out of her heels, she unbuttons her shirt and drapes it neatly over the provided hook, glancing back over her shoulder and giving Vision a coy smile when she catches him staring. "Are you sure you'll be able to just stand there and watch me try all these dresses on?" she asks, and watches the motion of his throat when he swallows thickly. "Without touching?"

"I didn't realise that was a rule," he says hoarsely, his eyes flickering downwards when she turns to face him, sashaying over the plush carpet towards him.

"It is now," she says softly, and pushes him down onto the couch, tight skirt riding up around the tops of her thighs when she straddles him, pressing her breasts into him for the inevitable sharp gasp that is music to her ears. "I'll know which dress is your favourite."

"How?" he asks, a break in his voice that makes her smirk, his eyes widening when she opens the top three buttons on his shirt, batting her eyelashes innocently at him.

Pressing her hips down into his, she smiles to feel him already growing hard. "I'll see it," she says, pointedly glancing down, and his gaze drops from hers bashfully. "I know how you feel about me."

"And how  _do_  I feel about you, darling?" he asks, the nickname in his smooth voice sending a shiver down her spine, and she leans closer to him, close enough to kiss, close enough that he tilts his head up and waits for her lips to land on his.

"You want me to fuck you," she breathes, and his breathing jumps, growing more laboured. "Right here. Where anyone could see us. Hear us." Leaning in to brush her lips against his ear, she whispers, "Do you want them to hear me scream your name, Vision?"

" _Yes_ ," he groans out, and she smirks into his neck, leaning back to look into his eyes, pupils dilated and dark with desire.

"Then you'll have to wait," she says, and smirks. "Because I'm not one for showing off my sex life."

" _Wanda_ ," he groans, almost whining, and she takes pity and kisses him, his hands immediately wrapping tightly over the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, his erection pushing into her thigh and his soft moan muffled into her mouth.

A throat being cleared three pointed times in a row means Wanda has to pull away from him, admiring his flushed face and heaving chest, and she fights not to smirk at Nora framed in the doorway, garment bags draped over her arm and a very sour look on her face. "The dresses you asked for," she snaps, hanging them on the clothing rail with an almighty clatter. "And I have to ask you to not do that in here. Company policy."

"Of course," Wanda says, syrupy sweetness laced through every word, giving her an angelic smile. "We didn't know. I guess we just can't keep our hands off each other, right babe?"

"Right," Vision echoes, dazed and quiet, and she kisses him, toying with the next button on his shirt until the door slams shut and she jerks away and out of his lap, eagerly darting to the rail and unzipping the first garment bag.

She hears Vision makes a guttural sound in the back of his throat when she wriggles out of her skirt, trailing her fingertips over the fabric of the first dress on offer just to feel how luxuriously soft it is, and gives him a smirk over her shoulder. "Like something you see?"

"You know I do," he says, his gaze running hungrily up and down her, but returning upwards to meet her eyes. And it makes her chest tighten for a moment.

"Well you can look," she says, pulling the first dress from its hanger, black velvet smooth beneath her fingers. "But no touching."

Pulling the dress over her head, adjusting it to fit to her body, she glances at herself in the mirror, her skin very white against the black, the long sleeves and high neck making it appear modest until the high slit in the skirt. Summoning her heels with a flick of her fingers, she steps into them and pulls her hair up in an imitation of what she might style it into for a black-tie evening, and glances at Vision. "Do I look worthy to be on the arm of a head of HYDRA?" she asks.

"You would be worthy no matter what you wore," he says, and she feels a blush creeping into her cheeks, turning back to the mirror to hide it. "Whichever dress you want, Wanda, that's the one you'll wear. This is all your decision."

"So I'm Cinderella," she says softly, and notices his quizzical look in the mirror. "It's a fairytale, Vizh. A story for children. There's this servant girl, and she wants to go to a ball and meet a prince, and a fairy comes to grant her wish and give her a beautiful dress." Giving him a sly smile, she says, "Does that make you my Fairy Godmother?"

"You're the one who makes magic, darling," he says, smiling at her, and she pulls the dress up over her head to hide how much she's blushing.

Two more dresses are tried on and set back on their hangers, while she looks for the magical moment. Her fairytale moments, when the world lights up and magic touches her mind and she feels like a princess. Making her think about her father telling her she could be a princess, clever and beautiful, and she could save herself. About her mother showing her the photos of their wedding day, her and Pietro a secret beneath the white lacy dress that was lost in the bombing, and saying it was a day when she'd felt like a princess. The magic she used to believe in, before the world ripped away her childhood.

Considering a black dress of a silky fabric that hardly covers her, cutouts at her sides and a slit in her skirt, she feels a mind brush against hers that isn't Vision's locked consciousness. Extending the mistiness of her powers, she bristles when she recognises Nora's mind. And can overhear the conversation she's having with someone else, an image of a dark-haired woman reading something while Nora speaks.

"So you're really telling me you slept with that guy? Where'd you meet a guy who can afford to come in bearing a girl that pretty wearing real rubies?"

"Please, they're probably just a convincing fake. And she's not  _that_  pretty."

"I'd never heard that jealousy is blind. But it must be, because she is a knock-out and anyone would be lucky to sleep with her."

"Shut up and listen. He was drinking in that bar round the corner from my place one night, right after I broke up with Doug-"

"I thought the last one was called Kyle?"

"Shut  _up_ , and he was making eyes at me so I went over and he invited me back to his place and he lives in this amazing manor with guards and everything, said he's involved in big business, and I spent a night in his bed and it was the greatest night of my life."

"You say that about every guy you sleep with. Your standards are disgustingly low."

"This time I mean it. He was seriously incredible, he did everything so well."

"Spare me the details, please."

"Trust me. There's no way that girl gives him as much as I did. She looks like the frigid type."

"Jealousy is a terrible look on you."

"Mark my words, girls like that date guys like him for the money. Poor guy probably needs someone to take care of him."

Red rising against her skin with her anger, the scarlet glow squirming alongside her veins, she takes a breath and says, "Vizh? Could you zip me up?"

His footsteps cross the room, his breath warm on her neck, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin of her back as he slowly slides the zip up, the black dress clinging to every curve, deep cutouts back and front showing an almost indecent amount of skin. Vision's breathing has grown a little shallower, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror, and he presses a soft kiss to her shoulder and whispers, "Black is definitely your colour."

"I prefer red," she says, smirking at him in their reflections. "I'm not sure about this dress. Seems like it might be too tight for an evening together."

Turning to face him, smirking at his eyes still dark with desire, she kisses him, lingering until she feels the hitch in his breath and his arms move to wrap around her. Sliding her hands down the line of his shirt buttons, she breaks the kiss and sinks slowly to her knees, skirt riding up as she lifts her head to grin wickedly at him. "Guess not," she says, untucking his shirt from his slacks to kiss at his abdomen, tracing her tongue along the sharp lines of his hip bones.

"What are you  _doing_?" Vision gasps out, breath hitching with a moan when she cups her palm over the shape of his erection.

"Don't you want them to hear you say my name?" she murmurs, and grins at the drawn-out groan he lets out when she unzips him.

"Please," he breathes, and she looks up to arch an eyebrow at him, her breath catching when his eyes meet hers, shining dark with lust. " _Wanda_ , please."

"That's more like it," she says is satisfaction, and takes him in her mouth, his moan filling the room, thrilling her. Seeing him unsteady on his feet, head thrown back, lost in the ecstasy she can give him is a thrill like no other, adrenaline unlike anything she's done. Any man she's been with before. The shift of his hips, his broken moans of her name, his hand in her hair. Everything makes her feel like she never has before.

A twist of her tongue makes him moan out her name loud enough to send a spark of arousal shooting through her, and she repeats the same motion, his nails clenching into her scalp, fingertips scraping against her skin. "Don't stop," he grits out, and she tightens her lips around him, taking him in as far as she can, and the way he says her name is almost a shout as he comes.

Zipping him neatly back up and getting to her feet, she wipes her mouth and grins at him. "That's what I wanted to hear," she says, and he surges forward to kiss her, pressing her back against the mirror, hitching her leg around him.

"You are incredible," he murmurs when he breaks the kiss, her head swimming with arousal, breathing hitching helplessly when his kisses follow the low neckline of her dress, lingering. "Let me make you feel as good as you make me feel."

"No," she manages to gasp out, detaching his hand from her thigh and lifting his head to look into his eyes. "That was for you. I can wait."

"But I want to make you come," he says, hand trailing up her thigh and slipping beneath her skirt, and it would so easy to let him undo her, to let the girl who pretended to know him hear him make her scream.

"Later," she says, echoing all of his promises. "When we're done here. Then you can make me scream your name." His eyes gleam, and he kisses her again, until she pushes him back. "Unzip me," she says, turning around and pulling her hair out of the way. "This isn't the one."

The moment she slides into the last dress, it's the fairytale moment she's always secretly wanted. The darker red makes her skin look paler, her hair darker, her necklace lending a glow to her face and her eyes bewitchingly green - she looks like a witch. Magical and dangerous. The femme fatale she projects herself as, staring back at her from the mirror, someone who could make men dance like puppets on her strings. Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, seeing for the first time that perhaps she isn't just sexy, but something more, she turns to face Vision and softly asks,. "How do I look?"

"It's perfect," he breathes, admiration in his eyes, tucking her hair back behind her ear and smiling down at her. "I'm the one who's going to have to look worthy of having you on my arm."

"Don't be ridiculous," she says. "You'll be the sexiest man in the room." Their eye contact is so electric that she looks away for a moment, before she lets herself melt into him, losing herself in kisses. But he cups her cheek, lifts her head to look down into her eyes, a soft shine in the blue that makes her chest tighten with a sudden something.

"You're more than just sexy," he says, and kisses her, tender and sweet. And she does melt into him, her arms wrapping around his neck, arching into his body at the touch of his hands on her back.

"Can we get out of here?" she asks when the kiss reaches its natural end, and she blinks herself back into reality. "I can wait - but not long."

"Of course, darling," he says, and she fights not to blush at the pet name. "I won't be long paying, then we can go back to the manor."

"Perfect," she says, and kisses him briefly before she turns to wriggle out of the dress and change back into her own clothes, handing the dress neatly folded in its garment bag to Vision, glancing after him as he leaves with a glowing warmth in her chest.

She wipes a last smear of lipstick from the corner of her mouth and steps back into the shop, nd immediately feels a vindictive rush of joy seeing Nora standing so close to the dressing room that she can't possibly have avoided hearing them. Looking at her with the same level of disgust she might afford any idiot who tried to overpower her, Nora glances at Vision and cruelly says, "So you're the flavour of the month, huh?"

"Actually we've been together for three months," Wanda says coolly, adjusting her necklace smugly. "How long did you get - three hours?"

"A whole night," Nora says, and Wanda rolls her eyes. "It doesn't matter. No matter how long he wants you around, he'll drop you when he wants to stick it in someone else."

"No he won't," Wanda says smugly, and leans closer, lowering her voice. "You know why?" A cold look, and she smirks and says, "Because I'm the best sex he's ever had."

"And how do you know that?" Nora splutters out, and Wanda arches an eyebrow at her.

"He told me," she says. "While I was on top of him. Fucking him  _senseless_."

"Darling?" Glancing at Vision, garment bag draped neatly over his arm, she gives him a gentle smile that he returns. "We should go."

Glancing back at Nora, smugly smirking, Wanda hisses, "And I'm going to do it all over again," before she sashays away, taking the hand Vision offers to walk back out into the cold of the day.

When he slides back into the car, Vision turns to look at her as the glow of the mind stone breaks through his mask and the disguise fades away, and she grins in satisfaction. "Much better," she says, and he grins at her as he puts the car into drive, speeding away from the shop and towards the outskirts of the city.

Reaching across the gearshift, she traces her fingers up the seam of his slacks to cup her hand over him, and his hips jerk up into his hand. "Wanda, I'm  _driving_ ," he says, and she leans over to kiss his shoulder, lifting her head to brush her lips against his ear.

"I want you ready as soon as we get there," she whispers, and he lets out a soft groan at the movement of her hand over him. "I need you in me."

She touches him as the car picks up speed, and when they finally reach the manor he parks haphazardly across the driveway, and she scrambles out of the car and towards the doors, turning to smirk at him following her. "I need a drink," she says, grinning at the desperation in his eyes. "Before you tire me out."

Eyes wild with want, he grabs her hand and pushes a door open into the kitchen, barking, "Out!" at the two soldiers drinking coffee. Sour looks on their faces, the two men leave and slam the door behind them, and Wanda leans back against the counter and watches Vision visibly shaking with want as he fills a glass for her.

Hopping up onto the counter, cheerfully swinging her legs, she drains her water slowly, watching his eyes flickering over her, listening to his shallow breathing. When she sets the glass down, she grabs at the front of his shirt, ripping a button off, and tugs him into a kiss, pushing his blazer off his shoulders and wrapping his legs around him. His arms slide around her, hands cupping the small of her back and pulling her against him, and she moans feeling him hard against her. "I want you in my bed," he murmurs against her lips, and she pushes him back, unbuttoning her shirt and tossing it unceremoniously aside.

"I want you right here," she says, pulling a condom out of her bag and pressing it into his hand. " _Now_." Kissing the hollow of his neck, reaching a hand down between them to slide her hand beneath his waistband and touch him, she breathes, "Make me scream," into his skin.

"Wait," he grits out, wrapping a hand around her wrist and pulling her fingers away from him, blinking the sheen of lust out of his eyes and meeting her gaze. "You're not acting like yourself. Why all the exhibitionism?"

"I'm horny," she says lightly, unbuttoning his slacks and staring greedily down at his erection. "Stop stalling."

" _Wanda_ ," he says insistently, gazing at her with a sincerity in his eyes that makes her breath hitch for another reason entirely. "It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the girl in the shop who I once brought home, would it?"

"Fine, you caught me," she says. "I didn't like seeing some girl blatantly flirting with you right in front of me. I was jealous. Now can we fuck?"

"Wanda, darling, you had no reason to be jealous of her," he says softly, tucking her hair back behind her ear. "I barely remember her. I assure you, I haven't so much as looked at another woman since the first time you kissed me."

"You expect me to believe that?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at him. "You have a womaniser reputation for a reason."

"Before you came into my life and showed me what I was missing," he says, and she can't help the flush stealing up her neck. "Why would I need anyone else when I have you? You're the best sex I've ever had. And it only gets better every time." Leaning in closer, he murmurs, "I don't want anyone but you."

He surges forward, nips a bruise into her neck as she moans out his name, unclasps her bra and move downwards, kissing her breasts as she arches into him, ripping his shirt off. "No teasing," she snaps, hitching her skirt up and tugging her tights and underwear down. "Fuck me.

She moans out his name when he pushes into her, scratching at his shoulders, and he answers with a sharp gasp of, " _Wanda_ ," as she moves against him. She drags him into a kiss, gripping the edge of the counter as his hips find a rhythm, driving her closer and closer to the edge with every thrust, his lips on her neck and his rough breathing warm on her skin.

Every moan, every gasp and hitch in her breath echoes around the room, Vision's groans turning her on more, fire flickering in the pit of her stomach, and she grips at his sweat-slick skin and cries out at a sharp spike of arousal when he nips at her neck, the hard tips of his fingers digging into her back where he's gripping her body against his, lifting her off the counter slightly he's holding on so tightly. " _Vision_ ," she groans out. "I'm close."

"Me too," he whispers, nails scratching over the marble countertops. "You feel so  _good_."

The flicker of a shadow outside the slightly open door distracts her, brings her back to a reality outside of losing herself in Vision. There's a silhouette just beyond the door, and a flick of the hand not clutching at Vision swings the door open just enough to recognise the soldier who tried to touch her outside. Lingering. Watching. She can see his mind, see what he's thinking, and grits her teeth. He made her terrified again. Like a child. But she's not a girl anymore. She's in control. She can torture people, make them see things they don't want to. She is a witch, cruel and vengeful.

"Harder," she whispers, spreading her legs wider around Vision, pressing against him. Let anyone look. Let the man who thinks he can have her see who she really wants. "I said,  _harder_." Gritting her teeth, looking into his eyes, she snaps, "Vision,  _harder_!"

For a split-second, he seems to genuinely harden inside her, and she screams helplessly, bucking against him. But only for a second, and then he stops moving, and his voice breaks through her haze, frantic and frightened. "I'm sorry, Wanda, I didn't mean to do that, it was an accident, did I hurt you, I'm so sorry, we can stop, I'm  _sorry_ -"

"Do that again," she gasps, breathless, and his eyes widen. "Now. Whatever it was, do it again."

"It's density manipulation," he says, still not moving, and she tries to move against him, to make him move with her. "It's how I fly and phase through walls, I didn't realise it could happen during sex, please don't be angry, I-"

"Vizh, it felt amazing, do it again," she snaps. And he finally does, and she screams again, bucking against him, the world breaking apart as he brings her to the edge. " _Fuck_ , Vizh, it feels so good, keep going, don't stop, oh  _God_  right there, don't stop, fuck I'm coming,  _Vizh_!"

She arches into him so hard it actually hurts as her orgasm hits, clutching at him, head thrown back and flashes behind her closed eyes. Reality returns so slowly it takes her a few moments to realise he's stilled, breathing heavily into her neck. " _Fuck_ ," he groans into her skin, and she giggles breathlessly. "Are you alright?"

"I think you've wrecked me," she breathes, and he grins, kissing her softly. "You're doing that every time from now on,  _fuck_."

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, and she smiles at him. "Get dressed. I'll drive you home." She pulls him in for another kiss, incredibly sweet, feeling him smile against her mouth and a warmth glowing in her chest.

There's an unmistakable clatter outside the door, and Vision's head turns faster than she could imagine, eyes flashing. Grabbing for her shirt and wrapping it over herself, tugging her skirt down, she watches Vision pull his slacks up around his hips and storm across the room, crashing the door open and wrapping his hand around the throat of the soldier standing outside, face contorted with fury. "I might've known it would be you, Williams," he says, voice cold and cruel. "How long were you standing there? Did you watch us the whole time?"

"Don't kill him," Wanda says, sliding down from the counter as Vision's fingers tighten their grip and the soldier turns purple. "Vizh, let go of him."

"Wanda, he  _saw_  us," Vision says, anger flashing in his eyes. "He watched you. He's a disgusting excuse for a human being. I ought to kill him where he stands."

"He's my toy," she purrs, giving Williams a cruel smirk. "I want him alive." Red coalescing around her fingers, reflected in Williams' terrified eyes, she says, "I have so many plans for him."

Vision stares at her for a moment, before he releases his grip on William's throat and the soldier stumbles away from them, gasping for air. "Listen to me," Vision says, voice hard and cold. "If Ms. Maximoff didn't want you alive, you wouldn't be. If you tell anyone what you saw, or you so much as  _think_  about her with anything other than respect, I will make sure you die a slow and painful death. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, sir," William says, a line of red around his neck, and Wanda smirks in satisfaction knowing how frightened he is. How much fun she can have making him wish he were dead.

"Good," Vision snaps. "Now get out of my sight. I don't want you anywhere near me."

The soldier scrambles to leave them, and Vision turns to her with a sigh, taking her hands and pulling her closer. "Why can't I resist you anything, darling?" he asks softly, and she tilts her head and gives him an angelic smile.

"You let me have my way and you keep getting to have incredible sex," she says sweetly, and raises her head to kiss him.

The drive back to her apartment block is quiet, darkness fallen outside, and she gazes at him in the glow of the streetlamps. His brow furrowed slightly in concentration, his hands that bring her so much pleasure on the wheel, eyes shining with every slant of light that falls across his face. Making her breath catch and her chest tighten. "I'll miss you," she says softly when he pulls the car to a stop. "I'll miss the sex."

"Come to the manor before the ball," he says softly. "You can get ready there. I promise I won't interfere."

"I'd like that," she says. "Will you send a driver to pick me up?"

"Of course," he says with a slight smile. "Nothing but the best for you, Wanda. My stunning date."

Even after she's kissed him goodbye and walked inside, her heart is still pounding.

 


	9. take me places that tear up my reputation

**A/N:** So how is the anticipation for  _Infinity War_? Really hotting up? Not sure if I will have this full fic published before that movie blesses us all, but I will try my hardest! In the meantime, enjoy!

* * *

The chink of glasses on the tabletop concludes the toast to another HYDRA operative lost, another mole within SHIELD discovered and killed in a shootout. It's simply unfortunate that this boy was the Baroness' son, and Vision feels a twinge of sympathy seeing the pain in her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands before she tucks them out of sight. "We will be withdrawing all of our undercover agents from SHIELD," Pierce says, voice level and calm, and it seems as if he should be more emotional. Should show some sort of sympathy for a fellow head who has lost a child. Vision will never know what it's like to have a bond like that. He can't imagine how it would feel to lose a family member. The only bond he knows is his with Wanda. And he knows that the thought of losing her, to a bullet or a knife, makes a feeling akin to nausea rise in his gut and the world waver at the edges for a moment.

It would be wrong for her to be gone. The same way as it is wrong that he looks now on a mother without a child, and a council that doesn't seem to mourn with her. "Will we still be going ahead with the ball, sir?" Bloom asks, leaving the mourning behind. Just moving on.

"Of course, it's been months in the making," Pierce says. "It will be an excellent occasion to celebrate all we have achieved rather than regret what SHIELD has taken from us. In the last eight months, we have seen two Avengers dead and Stark unstable, alone and on the run. The heart of the Avengers has been stolen from them, and they will fall without it."

Even as other heads smirk, their eyes gleaming with this belief, Vision doubts what the head of HYDRA says. Stark was not the heart of the Avengers. He has left them, yes, and two of their number are dead, but the Avengers haven't fallen. They seem to have rallied in the wake of that series of tragedies, working out of SHIELD's buildings, finding HYDRA moles in the organisation, continuing to reassure the media that just because they are now five instead of eight doesn't mean they won't continue to try to protect the world as hard as they always have. He can't help but feel that what HYDRA have done to the Avengers - what  _he_  helped to do, a fact that still makes guilt gnaw hotly at the back of his mind, growing ever worse with each passing day - will only make them stronger.

He's heard that people are able to grow stronger through adversity. That, though some might crumble and break when faced with a tragedy like losing a loved one, some won't fall into dust and shadows. Some only become more powerful. He's seen the evidence of that. Wanda lost Strucker, someone she saw as a mentor, and has only grown stronger from that loss. From what little information HYDRA has on the mysteries of her past, she lost her parents too, far younger than anyone should lose family. Knowing her the way he does, crackling with power and intrigue, beautiful and strong and so sure of who she is and what she wants, he can't imagine her ever having turned to dust beneath the weight of grief.

"Vision." Used by now to the cool, pointed way Pierce says his name, Vision looks up into the familiar unimpressed expression. "How are your arrangements with the Maximoff girl going?"

"Is the little witch going to wreak havoc at the ball?" Malick asks sourly, and Vision slips his hands beneath the table stretching out between the council members to hide how his fingers begin to curl into frustrated fists at the implied insult to Wanda.

"Ms. Maximoff will be there as my date," he says, exactly the same as he's told them before. In every meeting. Over every call where one head or another has quizzed him about whether he thinks Wanda will soon be found in HYDRA's cruel clutches. "And I'm sure that each and every one of you will be able to see that she is not the woman she was when she first came onto HYDRA's radar. The nature of our relationship is completely different."

That, at least, is not a lie. From his intentions of simply seducing her into joining HYDRA months ago, the very first time she kissed him beneath a training base - the sound of her soft moans when he kissed her neck still echoes back to him late at night, he can still feel the phantom press of her fingertips clutching at him - their relationship is completely different. When he worried that she might have been killed by a HYDRA operative, the thought of losing her made the world feel as if it might shake apart. When he kisses her, something deep within him tries to break free, warm and glowing. She was jealous of a woman she'd never met, simply because that woman had once warmed his bed for a few hours. And when she stood in front of him in the dress she chose, rubies glowing at her neck, his breath was pulled from his lungs. He was stunned in the wake of her beauty.

"And what if she decides to cause trouble?" Malick presses again, making a righteous sort of fury roil in Vision's chest. At what they're accusing Wanda of. At the assumption that all she wants to do is cause trouble. As if she doesn't have her own goals. Simply because her aims do not match HYDRA's doesn't mean that they are somehow lesser.

"Gideon makes a good point," Bloom says. "The council all in the same building, as well as so many of our best soldiers. It would be the perfect opportunity for someone looking to take out a number of us at once to enact a plan."

"Ms. Maximoff has no sinister motives for choosing to come to this ball," Vision says, fighting to keep his voice level. To not give away how the way they talk about Wanda makes fury rise in him - illogical, fiery fury. Not the controlled fury of a battle, or the icy cold fury of a meeting that frustrates him, but something wilder. An intense urge to defend her, for reasons he doesn't know. "I asked her to be my date. She said yes. That is all there is to it."

"If you're sure, Vision," Pierce says, and he nods firmly, desperate to end the conversation. The council can't know exactly what's happening between him and Wanda. The thought is horrifying. They might try to remove him from the mission that he's almost forgotten is the reason he's still seeing her, would replace him with a soldier who'd bring her to HYDRA or take her out of the world.

As the meeting ends, voices rising in discussions of bring wives and children to the ball, turning to plans for attacking SHIELD more directly now all undercover operatives have been removed, Vision leaves alone. He doesn't get to be a part of council camaraderie - nor would he want to be.

All he wants, truly and deeply, in the part of himself that he tries not to acknowledge until he is alone in the darkest hours of the night and there is nothing but his own thoughts, is to see Wanda. To feel like he isn't alone or unaccepted. To see the shine in her eyes and the slight flush in her cheeks when she looks at him.

He wants to feel that warmth swell in his chest.

* * *

Unwinding the towel from around her head, running her fingers through her still-damp hair in an attempt to remove any lingering tangles, Wanda considers her reflection. Definitely not as glamorous as she usually wants Vision to see her, missing the armour of her make-up and a short skirt and a distractingly low-cut shirt. And the urge rises like an itch, wanting to make herself into the Scarlet Witch. Hide herself behind that mask, the character she steps into.

But there's a car pulling up outside the apartment building, her bag is packed to go, and she can't keep holding back. Maybe it doesn't matter. And if it does, in a few hours she'll be wearing the dress he bought for her, rubies at her neck, and she can step into what she knows she can do. The seductive femme fatale, dangerous and irresistible.

Pietro is on the couch, watching a recorded documentary about the rise of SHIELD and making notes on a scrap of paper, and looks up when she closes her bedroom door. "Get some intel," he says shortly, and goes back to his notes.

There isn't time to reflect on how cool their relationship has become, barely acknowledging each other despite living in the same apartment. No point in allowing herself to acknowledge that her brother is pulling away from her, or perhaps she's pulling away from him. Instead she just leaves, he can do what he wants with his evening, teeth gritted. She wants to see Vision.

She recognises the driver of the car, the one guard in Vision's manor she's ever liked, and tucks her hair back behind her ear, ready to have a little fun. "Hi Timothy," she says, flirtatious and teasing, and tries not to laugh at the immediate flush that floods his face, his eyes leaving hers. "How's the relationship?"

"It's going well, thank you, Ms. Maximoff," he says as she lays her dress in its garment bag out across the back seat, careful not to wrinkle it. "Once I've dropped you off at the manor I've been given permission to take the night off and go see her."

"Anything exciting planned?" she asks, climbing into the passenger seat and waiting for him to fumble his way into starting the car.

"Just a meal and some dancing," he says, pulling away from the kerb and out towards the outskirts of the city. "We've been together almost five months."

"Sounds like it's getting very serious," she says, and notices the quirk of a smile at the corners of his mouth, a softness in his eyes. "Is it true love?"

"True love is for fairytales," he says immediately.

"Well, sometimes we all need a little bit of a fairytale in our real lives," she says, thinking about the dress Vision bought for her, how she feels when she wears it. Like, just for a moment, her life can be a fairytale too. Not just a tragedy.

Walking into the manor without Vision, and without the intention of sneaking into his bedroom to surprise him, feels odd. But when she opens the door he's already emerging from his office, and smiling at her, and any thought that she needs the Scarlet Witch to be with him melts away. She just goes to him, purely on instinct, and rises up onto her tiptoes to kiss him, lingering as his hands slide down her spine, folding over the small of her back and keeping her close even when the kiss ends. "You said you wouldn't interfere in me getting ready," she says softly, trying to control the way her heart is pounding.

"I couldn't resist," he says, smiling, and she leans in to kiss him again, cupping a hand to the back of his head to pull him closer. "Anyway," he breathes as he pulls away, the corner of his mouth curling in a smirk, "it seems like you want to be interfered with."

"Don't push your luck," she says, tracing her hands down his chest before pulling away completely. "Maybe later. If you're good."

He looks at her in that way that makes her chest tight, a soft sort of smile on his lips, something in his eyes that is thrilling but terrifying, and she moves past him towards his bedroom, trying to forget the way her heartbeat skipped and the thoughts that try to rise at the back of her mind. She is not a child who believes in fairytales and happy endings anymore. What's real is sex and lust and the memories of both that rise when she opens the door to Vision's bedroom, satisfaction curling sinuously in her chest when she remembers Vision on his knees for her in this room.

True to his word, he doesn't interfere with her process of getting ready. Not that she knows her exact process, never having even thought she'd been invited to something like this ball. But he stays in his office, only coming into the room a few times to retrieve a tie and a blazer and cufflinks, giving her a warm look in the mirror each time that makes her breath catch. As she layers the Scarlet Witch over her own skin, needing the protection for a night she'll spend surrounded by HYDRA, by the enemy, the people who took Wolfgang away and have been chasing her and Pietro ever since, she is left alone in his bedroom. Trusted not to do anything. It means something that Vision doesn't feel any need to hover over her.

Hair braided neatly up, intricate in an attempt to elevate herself away from an orphaned girl from a war-torn country that spent most of her life living on the streets, into someone walking into a manor even grander than Vision's on the arm of a head of HYDRA, she stares herself down in the mirror. Adds another layer of mascara, smudges her eyeshadow darker, switches her lipstick to a deeper shade of red. Finally changes into her dress, slips her feet into her heels and completes the transformation. Less Cinderella, more a self-fashioned supervillain.

A knock on the door comes as she's admiring herself, stunned by how different she looks, and she calls out a soft, "Come in." The breath steals out of her when Vision is framed in the doorway, fully-dressed in a pristine black suit and shirt, tie the same red as her dress, a red that almost matches his skin, gold cufflinks gleaming at his wrists and shoes polished to the perfect shine.

The silence hangs like a droplet of water from a leaf as they gaze at each other, and Vision's face slowly breaks into a smile. "Wow," he breathes, and even that word seems to make the world stop for a moment, and she's lost in his eyes, bright when he looks at her, crossing the room to take her hands in his and press a lingering kiss into her palm. "You look beautiful."

She drops her gaze away from his at a sudden lump in her throat, a tightening in her chest, and he cups a hand gently to her face. "No one's ever told me that before," she says to the floor, unable to look up and see him. "I...I've been pretty, and sexy, and fuckable, and sometimes gorgeous. But not beautiful."

"Well anyone who ever failed to tell you you're beautiful wasn't worthy of spending time with you," he says, and she looks up to meet his eyes, to see the honesty in the bright blue that enchants her. "You are so beautiful, Wanda."

"Thank you," she breathes, and he only smiles, lacing his fingers through hers. Stalled for a moment by the way he's speaking to her, so gentle and honest and filled with something she thinks she might recognise, something that scares her, she steps into the security of the femme fatale she projects and smirks at him. "And you're very fuckable, Vizh."

Pulling him down to kiss him, winding his tie through her fingers and feeling his breath hitch at the pressure, she breaks away the moment he reaches for her and walks away from him, an extra swing in her hips, smirking back at him over her shoulder. "Aren't we going to be late?" she asks sweetly, and he shakes his head at her.

"You are impossible, Wanda," he says, a kind of fondness in his voice and smile that makes her ache.

"You just keep behaving yourself, and maybe you'll get some pay-off later," she says, and walks out, feeling the weight of his gaze on her and smirking to herself.

One of the familiar sour-faced guards is waiting at the car for them, Vision leaning across her to open the door for her, and the plush interior of the limousine has her needing to conceal her amazement, luxurious leather seats and the soft glimmer of the lights in the roof. It hits her all over again that Vision is used to this lifestyle, lavish and overindulgent. Limousines and Italian leather and luxurious silks. Someone to drive him around, ballrooms to dance in, and, no doubt, a pretty girl on his arm. She can't be the first woman he's had in a limousine.

But he slides into the seat next to her and drops a lingering kiss on her shoulder, curving his hand gently over her thigh. "I've never rode in the limousine before," he says softly, his breath warm on her skin, forcing her to restrain a shiver. "Have you?"

"Do you really think I've ever rode in a limousine?" she asks. "The most expensive car I've ever rode in was a police car."

"Then I hope this is satisfactory," he says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice as his hand slides a little higher on her thigh, pressed tight against the hem of her dress.

"I hope it'll be more than satisfactory," she replies, heavy with suggestion, and pulls his hand away. "But not yet."

"You're making me wait?" he asks, and she meets his eyes to see desperation flickering there, his pupils blown dark and wide. "When you look so beautiful?"

"You know the charm doesn't work on me, Vizh," she says. "You wait or you get nothing. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," he says, and she rewards him with a kiss, hooking a leg over his to better angle herself as they reach the main roads and the lights flash past.

As she suspected, the manor of the head hosting the evening is even more ridiculously lush than Vision's, the driveway lined with lights, a fountain glowing in the light pouring from the entryway. Something of her inner turmoil between amazed awe and disgust at such opulence must flash across her face, because Vision lets out a low chuckle. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? Malick feels the need to compensate for the fragility of his position on the council. Rumours that Pierce wants to remove him and put his daughter in his place have been flying for months."

"He sounds like quite the charmer," she says as the car rolls to a stop and Vision reaches for the door, offering an arm to her when she climbs out into the brisk evening air. Alone for a moment, in the shadows pooling out of reach of the lights from the manor, only the whisper of the wind and the babbling of the fountain's water filling the air, she murmurs, "Vizh...I'm nervous. Everyone in that building knows who I am, and they all hate me."

"I won't let them hurt you, Wanda," he says, and his voice is quiet but so intense. Sincere. Meaningful. "I wouldn't let anyone hurt you."

"I can take care of myself," she says, and a slight smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

"I know," he says, and loops a strand of hair already fallen from its style back behind her ear. "But I can watch your back. Just to make sure."

"I don't need you to watch my back," she says, the same fear of being considered some weakling rising in her chest. "Just let me handle it. I know how to cope with men."

"Hopefully not the same way you cope with me," he says, trying to keep his voice light, but she sees a flicker of fear and jealousy momentarily mist over his expression.

"Of course not," she says, leaning closer into him, kissing distance. "All of that is just for you, Vizh." Lifting her head to brush a kiss to his lips, breaking away before it can get intense, she adds, "I wouldn't want to sleep with any of the rest of the council anyway. You're the only one worth looking at."

Smiling down at her, he offers her his arm and she takes it, giving herself a moment to steady herself before she walks into the light of the manor, towards the sound of music so polished it must be a live band. The haughty chatter of those with too much money to know what to do with it washes over her, and she clings a little tighter to Vision, just for a moment, for a temporary reassurance. Guards in all-black stare her down, and the guns gleaming in holsters at their hips send a frisson of fear skittering cold down her spine, though she straightens up and tosses her head and pretends not to be concerned. One guard, jaw dark with stubble and a scar bisecting one eyebrow, looks up and gives her a too-wide grin, reminiscent of a shark, as he spins a small shining knife over his fingers, and she draws herself up to her full height and wills her eyes to flash red. Just to see him recoil.

"Vision!" comes the shout as soon as they sweep into the ballroom, all soaring ceilings and marble curlicues and the dance floor shining, occupied by a few couples dancing and edged by knots of HYDRA associates talking business. Hand linked neatly through Vision's elbow, trying to appear haughty, Wanda gives her dress a subtle tug to shorten her skirt as she's steered towards a group she knows are the HYDRA council.

"Gideon Malick, Octavian Bloom, Alexander Pierce, the Baroness and the Sheik," Vision hisses to her moments before they reach the group, and she nods, giving each a short look to put the names to faces.

"You must be the infamous Ms. Maximoff," Malick says, looking at her as if she's a particularly annoying moth. "How are you enjoying my manor?"

"Didn't expect it to be bigger than Vision's," she says. "But then Vizh has no need for a ridiculously huge manor. He has other assets."

Malick opens his mouth, clearly apoplectic, but the one woman in the group cuts across him with a snort of mirth, giving Wanda a slight smile. "Good to meet after all we've heard about you, Ms. Maximoff," she says. "How long has it been since you came onto our radars?"

"Well it's been exactly eight months and twelve days since you refused to answer Wolfgang's call for help and got him killed, so I'd say about that long," Wanda says coldly.

"Rein her in, Vision," Pierce says crisply, not even attempting to lower his voice, and Wanda feels her eyes flash red with fury.

"Excuse me-"

"I will catch up with you later, gentlemen and lady," Vision says, and takes her hand. "Let's dance, darling."

They're one of the only couples on the dance floor, Vision's arm sliding around her waist and pulling her close, their feet finding a rhythm that matches. "Why did you pull me away?" she snaps, trying to keep her voice low. "I told you, I can handle myself."

"You've never met the council," he says, and there's a darkness clouding his eyes. Something almost like fear. "You have to be careful around them."

"But they're just a bunch of old men who think they can control the world," she says, and Vision draws her closer, almost protective.

"They're cunning and ambitious and they'll stop at nothing to push the world into chaos so they can take control," he says, mouth so close to her ear she can feel his breath on her skin. "They don't want order. They want people dead and the world burning. You don't want to be one of the people they murder."

"They'd have to catch me first," she says, and Vision chuckles softly.

"Please just be careful," he says, and the way he says makes warmth swell in her chest. "Just for tonight."

"Because it'll reflect badly on you if your date starts causing trouble?" she asks, and he lifts her head to look into her eyes.

"No. Because they'll try to hurt you if you cause trouble." Lowering his voice, cupping a hand to her cheek just for a moment, he says, "And I can't watch those people hurt you."

She can't think of a response other than to lace her fingers through his curved over her cheek and kiss him. His arm tightens where it's wound around her waist, pulling her onto her tiptoes, and she reaches up to cup a hand over the back of his head to keep him close. The music is playing on in the background, a slow waltz in the warm light, and something in her is trying to break loose. The sweetness of the kiss, his lips gentle on hers, is making her ache with more than just arousal.

When he breaks the kiss, eyes bright and a soft smile at the corners of his mouth, she presses herself into him, lowering their intertwined hands to curve his hand over her thigh, too high for decent company. "You think we're stopping there?" she whispers, and jerks him down into a more intense kiss, her skirt riding up as she wraps her leg around his and presses her hips against his.

The fact that they're in the centre of a dancefloor melts away when he kisses her back with the same intensity, desperate, his hand against the small of her back pulling her closer. When she nips at his lower lip he groans audibly, breaking the kiss to drop his mouth to her neck, turning her knees to liquid, and he gasps into her skin when she grabs at his ass to bring their hips closer together. "You like that?" she whispers into the sudden electric tension between them, and he nods.

"I always like anything you do," he breathes, and her smug smirk melts into a gasp when he returns his lips to her neck, hand sliding up beneath the hem of her dress. " _Wanda_."

An insistent pulse beating between her legs, she untangles herself from him and grabs his hand, tugging him off the dancefloor and into a corner unoccupied by anyone, out of the reach of the lights, shadowy and quiet and helpfully occupied by an plush series of chairs. Pushing him down, she hitches her skirt up and straddles him, and leans in close to whisper, "Make me come," before she kisses him.

"You...you said I had to wait," he grits out, and she grinds into him, thrills of arousal shooting through her at the feeling of his erection pressing into her.

"Make me come," she insists. "Right here."

"People can see us," he whispers.

"I don't care," she says, and kisses him, thrilling at the way he melts into her, all the tension he's been carrying himself with gone.

" _Wanda_ , what...what do you want me to do?" he finally asks, breathless, and satisfaction sings through her as she reaches for his hand and pulls it against her skirt, his eyes on hers wide and dark with lust.

"I want your fingers," she breathes. "Make me come, Vizh."

"But your skirt is so tight, how will I do this without people seeing?" he hisses, and she arches an eyebrow at him.

"Do you have phasing powers or not?" she snaps, and realisation dawns in his eyes. Glancing down, she watches his fingers turn intangible and slide through her stretched-taut skirt, and her hips buck instantly into his gentle touch. "Inside," she whispers, and hisses out a drawn-out, " _Yes_ ," when he obeys.

He meets her eyes for only a moment before he raises his head to kiss her, and she kisses him back desperately, her tongue in his mouth and her hips moving against his hand. " _Fuck_ ," she gasps when he slides another finger into her, grinding faster into his touch. "Feels good, Vizh."

"Someone's going to see us," he says, fear in the dart of his gaze towards the more crowded room, and she rolls her eyes, cupping his face between her hands and dropping a lingering kiss on his lips.

"Let them," she says, rolling her hips against his fingers, bringing herself closer to the edge. "They don't want me here? Show them you do." Kissing his neck for the thrilling hitch in his breath, she breathes, "Do you want me here, Vizh? Right here? With you? Like this?"

"Always, Wanda," he says, soft and sweet and sincere, and she kisses him, nails dragging over the luxurious material of his blazer as he moves his hand faster, harder, adds a third finger and makes her hips buck wildly.

"Don't stop," she says breathlessly, and tries to swallow her moans before someone overhears, leaning her weight against him. "Oh shit shit  _shit_ , Vizh, I'm close, I'm-" Turning her face into his neck, she lets herself moan his name into his skin as she comes, bucking against him before she stills, chest heaving and face hot.

There's a kiss brushed gently against her temple, and she pulls fallen strands of hair back behind her ear and leans back, breathing still harsh, to look into Vision's bright eyes and the softness of his smile. Or maybe tenderness. "You are so stunning," he breathes, gaze on hers, and something in her crumbles.

"I have to get cleaned up," she says, and climbs off him, tugging her skirt back down and walking away. Head spinning with his familiar voice calling her beautiful and stunning, the way he smiles at her, the brightness in his eyes.

* * *

Straightening his tie, trying to slow his breathing, Vision stands from the chair perhaps a minute or two after Wanda walked away, gaze darting towards the dance floor and the crowds. No one seems to have noticed them disappear, and no one will notice if they take a little longer to return. Concern is a crawling, niggling presence in his chest, and he sidles through the shadows to the bathroom, before anyone can accost him.

She didn't lock the door, and he can slide straight in, finding her among all the polished taps and marble staring at herself in the mirror. Her eyeliner smudged with sweat, lipstick smeared and faded with kissing, hair falling out of the intricate style she took such pains over. "Wanda?" Her eyes find his in the mirror, the smudged black make-up making them appear even greener, bewitching. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she says, a short snap of statement that piques his suspicions. "Just needed to get cleaned up."

"Something's wrong," he says, and her gaze drops away from his. He crosses the room, cups a hand to her waist, and drops a gentle kiss on her shoulder, her skin still overly warm beneath his lips. "Talk to me. Please."

She turns to face him, leaning casually back against the edge of the counter, and her lips curl in a familiar smirk. "Nothing's wrong," she says, her arms winding sinuously around his neck. "Just that you've been in this room for a whole minute already and we're not fucking."

A flick of her finger and the lock on the door clicks shut, and she jumps up onto the counter and pulls him into a kiss, working the knot of his tie open and throwing it aside, his blazer quickly joining it. Hitching her skirt up over her hips, she murmurs, "I need to have you," against his lips, and he can only answer in a groan as she pulls a condom out of her bag and presses it insistently into his hand.

His hands are shaking with arousal, making him fumble with the condom, not helped by her kissing at his neck and the impatient movement of her hips against his stomach. Looking at her distracts him, the hectic flush spilling over her cheeks and down her neck and collarbones, more strands of hair falling to frame her face, her lashes dark against her pale skin and her lips swollen-wet with kissing. The most beautiful person he's ever seen. So beautiful that he doesn't feel worthy of the honour of being with her.

"Oh for God's sake, let me do it," she snaps, snatching the condom out of his hand while he's lost in her beauty, anger flashing in her eyes behind the sheen of lust. "When I say fuck me, Vision, I mean fuck me right now. Not in half an hour when you get out of your goddamn head."

"I'm so- _oh_ -sorry, Wanda," he grits out, mind going blank for a second when she touches him, however briefly. She looks up, arches an eyebrow and he amends, "I'm sorry, Ms. Maximoff."

"You can make it up to me," she says sweetly, sliding her hands down his back to grab his ass and pull their hips together. "Go fast. You won't hurt me." He groans when she squeezes at his ass and drops a kiss on the hollow of his neck, bucking against him. "I need it  _hard_."

Sinking into her, his breath stuttering and her name on his lips, he tries to set a rhythm fast enough for her, and she grabs at him and drags him into a kiss, all teeth and tongue and lack of finesse, messy and desperate. Her moaning his name into his mouth is one of the sexiest things he's ever experienced, gripping at the small of her back to bring her closer, and when she moans out, " _Harder_ ," he knows exactly what she's asking for.

Her ecstatic scream when he wills himself harder inside her breaks their kiss, her nails dragging down the back of his shirt, pulling the material taut, and her entire body bucking desperately into his. "Don't stop," she moans, and he shakes his head, clutching her closer. "Just like that,  _fuck_ , keep going!"

"Are you close?" he asks softly, and she nods, her chest heaving against his, legs locked wide around him. Dropping a kiss on her swollen lips, tipping towards the edge when she kisses him back with an intense desperation, gasping and moaning against his mouth, he pulls back and helplessly breathes, "You are so beautiful."

" _Vizh_!" She cries out and comes, every sharp jerk of her hips driving him closer to the edge, and when she stills she gives him a dazed smile, her eyes bright. "Amazing," she whispers, and kisses him. He thrusts into her again, breaking the tender spell of the moment, and she tips their foreheads together, a hand cupped to his cheek. "Let go, Vizh. I wanna feel you come."

He falls over the edge almost immediately, groaning, " _Wanda_ ," and trying not to fall into her, her arms around him and her hand pulling at his jaw to lift his head and kiss him as they both come down. The world fading back into focus, the white flashes disappearing from the edge of his vision, and their heavy breathing the only sound in the room. " _Wanda_ ," he finally gasps out, and she giggles.

"Glad I made you wait?" she asks, smirking, and he nods eagerly, dropping kiss after kiss on her lips until her giggling makes it impossible. "That was  _so_  good, Vizh.  _You_  are so good."

"You make me better," he says, and she smiles and they kiss again, lingering for a long moment. "You stay in here, darling. Get yourself cleaned up. I'll go out and mingle with the rest of the council. And then...perhaps we can go back to the manor?"

"Oh, someone's eager for round three," she teases, and he shrugs. "I must look such a mess, honestly, sex in the bathroom is a mistake."

"Misguided, perhaps," he says, and she rolls her eyes, though the smile softening her mouth belies the gesture. "But not a mistake." Pushing yet more fallen strands of hair behind her ear, he smiles into her eyes and says, "And you could never look a mess, Wanda. You are stunning no matter what."

"Okay, charmer, get back out there and do your duty to HYDRA, or whatever it is they want you to do," she says, slapping at him, and he reluctantly separates from her, disposing of the condom and fixing his clothes back into place, as neat as possible.

She slides down from the counter and turns to her reflection, wincing, and he smiles at her while she isn't looking. "Come find me when you're ready," he says and she nods, and when he closes the door behind him as he slides out into the ballroom again he feels hollow not seeing her. Despite knowing she'll be with him again soon enough.

Giving his tie an adjusting tug, he approaches the knot of HYDRA council members virtually unchanged since he tugged Wanda away from them to dance, though the Baroness has left them. He suddenly wishes he'd scrutinised himself more closely in the mirrors before leaving when Pierce's eyes immediately fall onto him as he approaches them, and the heads all turn to him, arms folded and eyes hard. "Gentlemen," he says, trying to keep his voice light and unafraid.

"I don't know what game you think you're playing with the Maximoff girl, Vision, but it has to stop," Malick snaps. "It's embarrassing to watch a head of HYDRA fooling around with such a childish girl. Sneaking off into the bathroom to do God knows what at an official event is troubling behaviour, to say the least!"

"Perhaps you've forgotten, Gideon, but the plan was that I would seduce Ms. Maximoff into joining HYDRA," Vision says coldly. "That requires a certain amount of sneaking away from crowds to be alone. Unless you would like to see the seduction happen before your eyes."

"We gave you nine months, Vision," Pierce says thinly, and fear steals into Vision's chest, though he tries desperately not to let it show. "It's been almost five. What exactly are you doing with Ms. Maximoff other than having sex in dark corners and bathrooms?"

"I assure you, sir, there is more to our relationship than meets the eye, and I am confident that she is reaching a point where she will be willing to join HYDRA," Vision says, trying to project all the confidence in his own words that he possibly can.

"Well we are not confident," Pierce says sharply, and Vision knows he falters. Only for a split-second. But he does. "There doesn't appear to have been any progress. Ms. Maximoff is walking all over you, and you're simply letting her."

"She is  _not_  walking-"

"Please, Vision, your dynamic with the little witch is obvious," Malick says coldly. "She is in charge. And I believe I'm right in thinking that you like it that way."

Something in the way he says it makes something terrible crash into Vision's chest. Shame, hot and cloying. Of course, he enjoys his dynamic with Wanda. Her being is charge is significantly better than any other dynamic. It's made her the best sex he's ever had. So why is Malick talking about it like it's a bad thing? Perhaps it's not supposed to be like that. He should be in charge. He should be the one pinning Wanda down, not her doing it to him, he shouldn't give in to her demands the way he does, the way she looks on top of him shouldn't be imprinted into his mind. Perhaps their dynamic is not the way relationships between men and women are supposed to be.

"Perhaps this is a necessary evil, Gideon," Bloom says, drawing Vision out of his spiral. "Perhaps the dynamic has to be this way. Because, the way I see it, it's perhaps not just seduction that is going to bring Ms. Maximoff to our side. There is something more going on here." Turning his unnervingly piercing gaze to Vision, he says, "More than just sexual feelings. Something a lot deeper."

Vision starts when a hand hooks into his elbow, and he turns to find Wanda smiling at him, her make-up mostly scrubbed off, her hair let loose from its style, eyes bright and face lit up by the reflection of the light off her necklace. "Sorry to interrupt business, gentlemen," she says, and kisses Vision's shoulder. "Are we heading home, babe?"

"Of course," he says automatically, and she smiles, leaning her head against his arm. But the way the other heads are staring at them makes his chest clench with shame, and he detaches her from him. "You go to the car, darling, I won't be long. Just have to finish this talk, you know how it is."

Wanda blinks at him a few times, he sees a spark of red in her eyes, and then she huffs and turns on her heel, tossing a, "Fine," back over her shoulder. And Vision can't immediately follow her, though he knows enough to recognise he's angered her. He can't look weak in front of the council, he has to prove Wanda isn't walking all over him. Even though he doesn't understand what they mean by that, or how they can recognise it.

"Leaving early as well," Malick says acidly. "The biggest night of the HYDRA year, when we're all supposed to see each other and talk and mingle, and you're leaving early to be with some girl. You truly aren't worthy of your seat on our council, Vision."

"I am leaving early because if I am ever going to bring Ms. Maximoff to our side then I have to be with her as much as I can," Vision snaps.

"Enough from both of you," Pierce says, the tone of his voice seeming to lower the temperature of the room itself. "We will talk about this at the next council meeting. Goodnight, Vision. For the sake of your position, I hope the rest of your evening goes better than this portion has."

Even after he turns away from them, shame is still crawling hot in his chest, making him feel almost nauseous, bowing his head as he hurries past the crowds, back into the chill of the night. He's wrong for having his relationship with Wanda be the way it is. It's not right. He's supposed to be the leader in every situation, and letting her do it just makes him weak. He's not worthy. He won't be, as long as sex with Wanda continues the way it's always been.

She's already waiting in the back of the limo, and takes his hand when he sits down, pulling him close as the engine starts and they pull away, leaving the ball behind but keeping all the terrible thoughts humming in Vision's head. "What's wrong?" she asks softly, and there's concern in her eyes, and he so wants to talk to her. But how can he? With a driver listening, and Malick's voice in his head, and the terrible knowledge that people look down on him for allowing Wanda to have the authority. It's not how people behave. If he'd known that, he would've kept her beneath him from the moment they met.

"Nothing," he says shortly, avoiding her gaze, and flinches when she cups his cheek, turning his face back to her, eyes searching his face as he hastily neutralises his expression. The way he does in council meetings. Pretending there's nothing whirling beneath the surface.

"Vizh," she says, and the nickname makes him break, looking into the eyes of the person he believes to be the only one in the world who looks past his exterior. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," he repeats, and kisses her until she relaxes, her eyes shining softly when he breaks away. A wave of inspiration hits him, and he slides a hand up beneath her skirt and says, "I think we should fuck right here. Where anyone could see us."

"Great idea, Vizh," she says brightly, dropping another kiss on his lips. "I must be rubbing off on you." Running a fingertip down the silken length of his tie, before he can pull her back into a kiss and rock her onto her back on the leather upholstery she's dropped to her knees on the limo floor, pressing kisses slowly up his thigh, hand sliding down the line of buttons on his shirt. "My turn to take care of you," she breathes, smirking up at him as her fingers reach his zipper.

And yet, no matter what she does, even with her mouth on him, his mind is a million miles away from sex in the back of a limo. He can't stop thinking about the way the council looked at him, the disgust swimming subtly behind their eyes, the poking, prodding doubt in their voices. Wanda gripping tight at his thigh brings him back to the ground, the leather crackling beneath him, and her eyes wide looking up at him, swollen lips set in a softly concerned line. "Vizh, are you okay?" she asks, and she's so sweetly worried for him, but he still doesn't want to talk.

"Don't stop," he says, almost robotically. Mechanical. Like a machine. Because that's all he is. Why should she be concerned for him, care about him as anything more than a body to use? He's nothing more than a synthetic body, laced with stolen metal, something alien giving him life and clashing voices of two AI systems dictating his decisions. He's not worth worrying over. All that he feels, this something like shame coiling in his gut, is nothing more than the firing of a few electromagnetic impulses. A pale imitation of tears, or joy, or guilt. He can't feel like a human. He isn't one.

He only escapes the dark spiralling of his own mind for a minute or so, clutching at the seat and groaning out Wanda's name, her eyes meeting his and a smirk at the corners of her mouth when she sits back on her haunches and swallows. But the ecstasy fades too soon, and before Wanda has even eased herself off her knees and back next to him he's saying, "We should wait until we're back at the manor. This isn't the most comfortable place."

"But it would be fun though," she says flirtatiously, dropping a kiss on his shoulder and curling sinuously into his side. "C'mon, Vizh. Make me scream." Almost without signal from his mind, he slides away from her on the seat.

"I don't want to," he says shortly, and doesn't look at her. He doesn't want to see what's in her expression. Probably rage. Disbelief that he'd turn her down.

"Okay," comes the response, and she doesn't sound angry. Something else. Disappointed. Or perhaps even sad. "Okay, that's fine. I'll wait." The way she speaks makes him want to turn around and tell her everything, and take whatever comfort or reassurance she might give him. But he  _can't_.

* * *

Her heels click rapidly on the polished floorboards as she tries to keep up with Vision's longer strides, his shoulders tensely squared and his jaw gritted. "I suppose you'll want a glass of water," he says without turning to face her, a cold snap in his voice that she hates, reminding her of all the times she'd do something wrong and men before Vision would refuse to explain what, shutting her out in the cold and denying affection.

"That would be nice," she says, trying to keep her voice light and unaffected. He disappears into the kitchen, returns with a glass that he hands to her almost violently, spilling over, and continues storming towards his bedroom while she hurries along in his wake.

She shouldn't have to put up with this. She never should have when she was younger and insecure and desperate for affection, she should've stood up for herself instead of waiting for fits of unexplained anger to pass over like clouds in the sky. But she especially shouldn't now, now she's an adult and knows her own worth and sees straight through any excuse or attempt to project a layer of pretense. Alone with him, watching him move around his bedroom as she sits at the end of his bed, she finally says, "I had a lovely evening, Vizh. Thank you for taking me."

"You're welcome," he says, still cold and clinical, and she rolls her eyes to herself, curving her fingers to levitate her glass carefully to the nightstand and folding her legs up under herself as best she can in a tight skirt.

"The council seem like even bigger assholes than you led me to believe," she says, and sees him wince. She's breaking through whatever layer of armour he's pulled up over himself, shutting her out. "I can't believe they told you to rein me in. After I know they wanted me to join up, they should no better than to insult me."

"You make them nervous," he says, and she can't help but preen at that knowledge. Some of the most powerful people in the criminal underworld are afraid of her. "They're not used to anyone being so brazen."

Anger spikes hot, making a crackle of scarlet energy flicker over her fingers, and she snaps, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Vision glances at her, finally seeming to have softened, but simply says, "Just as I meant it. They noticed your brazenness."

Squinting at him, sliding along the bed and aggressively patting the mattress next to her, arching an eyebrow pointedly at him until he sighs and sits down, she waits for him to meet her eyes to ask, "And does that bother you?"

"No, not at all," he says. Too hastily. With cheery and blatantly fake confidence. And with a flicker of his eyes away from hers and a nervous swallow, and she wouldn't need telepathic powers to recognise that he's lying.

"Why does it bother you?" she asks gently.

"I assure you, Wanda, it doesn't-"

"Cut the crap, Vizh," she snaps, and he looks at her wide-eyed. "I can see it bothers you. You were fine in the bathroom, and then you were passive aggressive and cold and barely even responded while I was giving you a fucking blowjob. Why?!" Something about the set sadness of his expression makes a suspicion rise at the back of her mind, and she thinks about the way the HYDRA council looked down their noses at her, and sighs. "So...because of my 'brazenness', you lost the dick-measuring contest, huh?" The way his gaze drops from hers shows her she's right, and she moves closer, laying a hand on his thigh and cupping a hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "Let me ask you, Vision - are you fine with how things are between us?"

"Of course I am, Wanda," he says, eyes finally softening, making the warmth bubble in her chest again. "You're the best sex I've ever had."

"Then why did you let them get to you?" she asks, and he shrugs, and she moves closer, sliding her hand higher on his thigh and dropping a kiss on his shoulder. "They've got it all wrong, Vizh. It's their own fault they can't understand the way we are. How is it embarrassing to have a woman fulfil your every desire?"

"I don't...know," he mumbles, breath hitching when she reaches for the knot on his tie, working it loose and tossing it aside.

"Isn't that every man's dream?" she asks, punctuating each word by opening another button on his shirt, letting her fingertips linger against his skin.

"I...I guess," he says, and she smirks.

"So next time," she drops a kiss on his neck, relishes in his gasp, traces the edges of a plate of vibranium just above his waistband, "tell them that."

He moves first to kiss her, pulling his shirt and blazer off and reaching for the zip at the back of her dress. "You're right," he breathes into her neck between kisses. "I shouldn't let them make me doubt our relationship. They don't respect me, and...and I don't respect them."

"I know," she says, digging her fingers into his back when his teeth scrape against her neck. "I could see it all night. All those guards, kids worshipping at HYDRA's feet - you're not like them." Raising her arms for him to pull her dress up over her head, shaking her hair out and meeting his eyes, she softly asks, "What do you worship, Vision?"

"Tonight?" He smiles at her, shaking something in her loose, and lays her back on the bed, unclasping her bra and dropping it to the ground. "Only you."

He trails kisses down her body, lingering, and she sighs out his name, fingers tangling in the sheets, twisting, her knuckles white with tension. When he reaches her stomach, he glances up at her, a question his eyes, and she gives him an encouraging nod. "Go ahead," she breathes, and moans helplessly when his lips touch her, and he immediately relaxes into the same rhythm as usual, enough to ruin her. "Oh  _God_...oh fuck,  _Vizh_."

She feels worshipped. The way she never has before, no man before Vision ever having taken so much time to give her pleasure, to make her feel good, have her writhing on the bed beneath his ministrations, his groaning against her and his hands gripping tightly at her thighs proving that he enjoys it too. And not only that, but he's sweet to her. He's the first person who's ever told her she's beautiful. Soft and sweet and sincere, eyes shining, and the memory of it pushes her over the edge, bucking against his mouth.

"Don't stop," she breathes roughly when he starts to move away, and his gaze flickers up to meet hers. "Keep going."

"But you already-"

"I know," she says, and smirks at him. "But you can make me come again, can't you, Vizh?"

"Oh, I...of course," he says, so hesitant and nervous despite already being between her legs that she wants to laugh.

"That's what I thought -  _shit_." She can't help moaning at his mouth on her, faster and harder than before, driving her towards the edge. Making her lose control, her moans pitching higher and higher, his name on her lips as she shifts beneath him, his fingertips biting bruises into her thighs when she arches into him and comes.

" _Wow_ ," she gasps out, and glances down at Vision, dropping a gentle kiss on her thigh and making to move away. "Vizh, get up here and kiss me."

He leans up over her and she cups his face when he leans down to kiss her, content in his arms, smiling softly against his mouth. "You're on top form tonight, babe," she says when they separate, and giggles when he ducks his head bashfully. "Seriously. I mean that."

"You are too," he says softly, and she kisses him again, rolling them so he's on his side and she can lean over to the nightstand and grab a condom.

"Let me prove it," she says softly, sliding her hands down between them to finish undressing him, kissing him slow and deep, until arousal is surging in her again and she wants more.

She climbs on top of him, the familiar position they've had since the first time she walked into this manor with the intent to see him beneath her, and sinks onto him as their eyes meet. It doesn't feel the same as it did the first time, the electric pull of white-hot lust between them. This is different, something less desperate, and softer. When Vision shuffles himself around to prop himself up on his elbows, she smiles at him and he smiles back, and she leans down to kiss him. Their lips pressed gently together, no tongue or teeth, just a sweet kiss as she grinds slowly on top of him.

"You're beautiful," he breathes, and she smiles at him.

"You are too," she says, and kisses him again, cupping his face between her hands, tracing a line of vibranium on his face with her thumb, feeling his breathing growing heavier and the moment his moaning ends their kiss. "Touch me," she breathes, and his fingers brush gently against her clit, making her hips buck into his touch. "Slowly, Vizh."

Their sex has never been so gentle before. He lets her lead, grinding into him, kissing him softly, grabbing his hand and directing him to touch her a little harder when she gets close, dropping her head onto his shoulder and gasping out when she comes, a drawn-out heat in her blood, and when she lifts her head he's gazing at her in a way that makes her breath catch. "You gonna come for me, Vizh?" she asks softly, twisting her hips, and he groans her name, coming within a minute of her slow grinding, leaving them both gazing into each other's eyes and trying to calm their breathing.

"You're amazing," he finally says, and she smiles and drops a kiss on his shoulder, rolling off him and collapsing into the mattress, exhausted. He turns away briefly to dispose of the condom, and turns back to her, lying on his side next to her and tangling their fingers together, smiling. "I mean it, Wanda. This night was everything I wanted."

"All the sex was incredible," she says, and he grins, tracing a fingertip along her cheekbone in a gesture so tender that it terrifies her. "You...you're interesting, Vision. Why stay with HYDRA when they treat you like that?"

"Where else am I supposed to go?" he asks, and he sounds so hollow and sad that she aches for him. "There's nowhere else in the world for someone like me."

"You could be like me," she says. "Just go it alone. No one can stop you."

"They would," he says. "I'm not like you, Wanda. I can't just blend into a crowd and disappear. The only way to stay safe is for me to stay here."

"You could leave," she says. "I did."

"I'm not as brave as you," he says sadly, and she moves closer. Kisses him, and his hand untangles from hers for his arm to wind around her, pulling her close. Close enough for his thigh to press between her legs, and when she moves her hips against him she wants him all over again.

His hand moves from cupping her cheek down, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch, and she takes his wrist and moves it down to where she wants him, gasping when he touches her. "Gently," she says, and he nods, his touch feather-light, their gaze never breaking as she hooks her leg over his hip and moves into his touch, breath hitching.

It's slow, and undeniably tender, and when she moves forward and kisses him she feels him start to grow hard against her stomach, and slides a hand down to touch him in return. They move together, kissing slow and soft, and he comes first, gasping out her name, and the way he looks at her and murmurs, "You feel so good," pushes her over the edge.

Kissing him one last time, she rolls out of bed and locks herself in the bathroom, gazing at herself in the mirror. Taking a flannel to scrub off the last traces of make-up she hasn't sweated off, running the shower to rinse herself down, plaiting her hair back out of her face. Making herself look younger, more vulnerable, not the femme fatale she's been playing all night. Instead, just another woman on the street who might be developing a stirring of feelings for someone she shouldn't be.

When she returns to Vision's side, he's lying in bed, still naked, but the sheets are changed and soft when she slides into them, rolling automatically into his arms. "That was perfect," she says, and he grins.

"You came six times tonight," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"Why were you  _counting_ , Vizh?!" she asks incredulously, and he smirks.

"You once told me the best sex you'd ever had was with a man who made you come five times in one night," he says, looping a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "And now you've come six times in one night with me."

"Oh my God, Vizh." Looking at him, the gleeful smile on his lips, she says, "Vizh, I...that guy? I made him up. No one ever managed to make me come more than once in one night before you. Half of them couldn't even make me come  _once_." Cupping a hand to his cheek, she smiles and says, "You're the best sex I've ever had."

" _Really_?!" he asks, and she grins and nods, and he kisses her giddily, joy in the press of his lips to hers. "Well, Wanda, you're the best sex  _I've_  ever had."

"I know," she says smugly. "And you came four times tonight. And I'm exhausted from all that."

"Then sleep," he says softly, pulling the blankets up over them, and she lays her head on his chest and lets herself drift.


	10. say it in a touch

**A/N:** Last update before  _Infinity War_! I will attempt to get back to writing ASAP after seeing the movie, but it will take me some time to calm down. Hope you all enjoy this installment!

* * *

 

Dawn is striping the pale walls with silvery winter light when Wanda opens her eyes, lifting her head from Vision's chest to glance around his bedroom. She never meant to stay the night, expected to wake up in the early hours of the morning, gather her things and walk out before Vision would ever notice she was leaving. Leave him a teasing note and return to her own bed.

But Vision's mattress is so comfortable, and his body is warm enough to chase away any cold trying to curl into her skin, and he's still sleeping, even when she stretches and leans up over him, looking down at his peaceful face. All of his armour is gone, the suits and ties and superior smirk, and he looks so calm in sleep, his arm wrapped loosely around her, and a warm swell of affection fills her chest.

He moves beneath her weight, arm tightening around her, and she smiles when he opens his eyes and blinks blearily at her, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth and brightening his sleep-dull eyes when he sees her. "Well good morning, Ms. Maximoff," he says softly, and she can't help smiling at him. "How long have you been watching me sleep?"

"Hours," she says sweetly, and he simply grins, his fingertips caressing up and down her back. "I like you so much better when you're unconscious."

"You don't mean that," he says softly, and she tangles their fingers together, tracing the line of vibranium crossing his cheek and watching his eyes soften.

"No," she breathes, "I don't," and leans down to kiss him, such a sweet kiss that her heartbeat stutters, reminding her how long it's been since she lay content in bed with someone else, watching the morning light play across their skin and their arm around her, hand trailing lower than it should. "Vizh," she whispers as she breaks the kiss, a warning in the way she arches her eyebrow at him, "not today."

"Did I tire you out too much last night?" he asks, smirking at her, and she shakes her head and slides off him, triumphantly watching his gaze lingering on her. "You're usually so insatiable, darling."

"If you want me, you'll have to wait," she says sweetly, opening the drawers of his nightstand to find a neatly folded black shirt and sliding her arms into it, almost instinctively. She hears him swallow thickly when she stands up, tugging his shirt down, and glances back to see him staring at her bare legs, gaze flickering upwards and lingering on the way his shirt fits her. "It suits me, doesn't it?"

"Definitely," he says, and reaches for her hand, tugging her back into bed and on top of him, toying with the buttons of his shirt as he kisses at her neck.

She lets him for a few moments, enjoying the sensation of being so desperately wanted despite how many times they've had sex over the last day, then pushes him away, sitting up in his lap. "I said you had to wait," she says, and drops a kiss on his lips. "At least until I've eaten. Manor this big, you must have someone to make breakfast for all the women you've had through here."

"You're the first woman who's ever stayed long enough to want breakfast," he says, looping a strand of hair loose from the rest behind her ear and smiling at her so tenderly that fear spikes cold in her chest. "Let me cook for you, Wanda."

"You don't have to go and patch things up with the rest of the HYDRA council?" she asks, and he blanches hard enough to make her laugh.

"You are far more interesting than grovelling to Pierce even though I did nothing wrong," he says, and raises his head to brush a soft kiss against her lips. "I'd be delighted to spend more time with you."

"Then you should get dressed," she says, idly tracing a fingertip along a plate of vibranium on his chest. "You're too tempting like this."

"Is that so?" he asks, smugness in his smirk, and she rolls her eyes.

"Don't push your luck," she says, and climbs off him, pulling the elastic out of her hair and shaking it out while he rustles around behind her. Taking a moment to breathe, to ground herself and work out the game plan. Just because she ended up spending a night in Vision's arms doesn't mean anything. Thousands of people sleep in the arms of someone they're sleeping with every day, it's not anything to worry about. There's nothing going on in her head or her heart, it's just sex. Nothing more than chemistry - incredible chemistry, but just that nonetheless. Any stirrings of other feelings are just her imagination. The weak, childish part of her that's still searching for a love story.

Vision's lips brushing over her shoulder bring her out of her own thoughts, smiling to herself and reaching up to grip the back of his head when his mouth moves to her neck, kissing gently over the dark bruises he left there, distinct against her pale skin. "If I could wake up with you in my bed every morning I'd be happy to," he says, breath warm against her cheek, arm sliding around her.

"You're on the offensive with the charm today," she says, and feels him grinning into her neck. "Get off me, I want to watch you make breakfast for me. All good lovers do it."

"I intend on being the best lover you've ever had," he says, and she turns to look at him, robe tied tight around his waist but pulled open enough for her to trace the raised edge of a plate of vibranium, cool beneath her fingertips.

"You already are," she says, meeting his eyes, and leans in to kiss him for a moment before she pulls away and leaves the bed, hovering in the doorway for just long enough to smile over the joy that sparks in his eyes.

For once, the corridors of the manor aren't being patrolled by those familiar sour-faced men who always glare at her, who she knows don't respect her or Vision. They must all still be sleeping in the aftermath of the biggest event of the HYDRA year, and the silence means Vision doesn't play his part. He takes her hand, like he did in front of the HYDRA council, and she can't help the way her heartbeat stutters at his fingers winding between hers. "So how many women have you done this with?" she asks, trying to sound light and not jealous and certainly not trying to change the subject to distract herself from the way her mind keeps spiralling into thinking about waking up next to him every morning.

"None," he says, and gives her a soft smile. "You're the first." Turning to her, the hand not intertwined with hers reaching up to cup her cheek, he says, "The thing about the life of a womaniser, Wanda, is that it's lonely."

"Yes, I feel so sorry for you with your amazing manor and your new woman every night and your guards and a driver," she says, and regret spikes sharp in her chest when his face falls. "Vizh, I'm joking. I know how it feels to be lonely."

"I didn't know it was loneliness until I met you," he says, tinged with shyness, and a helpless smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Wanda, you...I didn't know what acceptance looked like until you came into my life. You were the first."

Lost for words, she bounces onto her tiptoes to kiss him, his hands smoothing down her back as their mouths move together, slow and sweet. Her heart light with something new and wonderful and terrifying, something that could send her spiralling up to heaven or drag her down to hell, pieces of her coming unstitched in his hands, pulling her walls down brick by brick. She's not the Scarlet Witch in his arms, not anymore. She's just Wanda, herself, her armour melting away, helplessly softening beneath his gentle touch.

Someone sharply clearing their throat pulls her out of their embrace, and she finds Pietro of all people staring at them, the door into the kitchen swung open as he leans casually on the door frame, eyebrow arched. "I'd say good morning, but it looks like you're already having one," he says, corner of his mouth curling in a smirk, and she steps out of Vision's arms, tugging the shirt she's wearing down and setting her expression into a glare, blinking away the warm fuzziness of kissing Vision.

"What are you  _doing_  here, Pietro?!" she snaps, folding her arms belligerently, trying not to be too aware of the marks on her neck and her lack of clothing and Vision silent behind her only in his robe.

"You didn't come home last night," Pietro says easily, gaze flickering between them, grin growing wider. "I was worried about my baby sister being out past dark in a room full of HYDRA operatives. Anything could happen."

"Nothing did," she snaps. "How did you know where I was?"

"We've been siblings for nearly twenty-three years, and you think I don't know where you hide presents from guys?" he asks, rolling his eyes. "I found this address tucked into Mama's fairytale book, was pretty sure it belonged to the guy you're sleeping with. Thought I'd come make sure my sister wasn't, oh I don't know, dead in a ditch somewhere."

"I'm fine," she says shortly. "Go home, Pietro."

"Not now I've seen this kitchen," he says, grinning smugly. "Do you know how long it's been since I had something other than coffee and slightly stale bread for breakfast?"

"It's your own fault for not doing the grocery shopping," she says, and starts when Vision's arm slides around her waist, looking up into his eyes, glinting with amusement.

"I don't mind him being here, darling," he says, and she can't help a slight smile at the pet name. "I'll cook for both of you."

"Do you even eat?" Pietro asks lightly, and she turns another glare on her brother, still grinning in the doorway.

"I don't have to, but sometimes I like to," Vision says, and she can't help but be surprised at his willingness to answer her brother's ridiculous question, humour him when she's pretty sure the Vision she first met would've thrown Pietro out of the manor without a shred of regret.

Grinning, Pietro turns back into the kitchen, and Wanda tries not to blush when he sits at the counter that she had sex on barely more than a week ago, where Vision made her scream and clutch at him. She wonders if Vision remembers too when his shoulders tense momentarily, and helps herself to a glass of orange juice, leaning against the counter and watching Vision's gaze flicker down to her legs. "I thought you were planning the next mission, Pietro," she says.

"I was," he says, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and inspecting it. "We need more vodka, by the way. Anyway, I think I have an idea, but I probably shouldn't get into it in front of a head of HYDRA."

"By all means, Mr. Maximoff, do whatever you want," Vision says, attentions mostly absorbed by the recipe he's staring at. "The HYDRA council tends not to listen to my ideas anyway."

"Great, because I'm really proud of this plan," Pietro says, and Wanda rolls her eyes, choosing instead to concentrate on watching the way Vision's shoulders move as he stirs eggs and flour, lust stirring hot in the pit of her stomach as her gaze runs over him. "So I was watching that documentary about the rise of SHIELD last night, bored as hell alone in that apartment, and then I hear the lady going on about Steve Rogers, and missing him. Turns out the world is fascinated by Peggy Carter, and I found the address of the care home she's dying in. Maybe we should pay it a visit."

"Why should we be concerned with one of the founders of SHIELD?" she asks vaguely, lost in gazing at Vision, cooking for her of all things, a perfectly domestic morning that she might have dreamed of having years ago, before the world proved to her that love isn't real.

"Jesus, Wanda, aren't you listening to me?!" Pietro exclaims, volatile irritation snapping in his tone, and she drags her gaze away from Vision to turn to her brother, tapping his fingers against the counter and glaring at her. "Peggy Carter? Missed opportunity first love of Steve Rogers?"

"Sorry, I'm exhausted," she says, and hears a slight chuckle from Vision that makes her simultaneously roll her eyes and smile affectionately. "Explain your plan to me?"

"Well, we saw how much losing Banner and Rhodes fucked Stark up - thanks for that, Vision," Pietro says, and Vision turns to him, something Wanda can't quite read flashing in his eyes.

"I was only responsible for Banner's death," he says, soft and almost sad. "Rumlow killed Rhodes."

"Semantics," Pietro says with an airy wave of his hand. "Anyway, since the easiest way to screw someone up is to go after the people they love, maybe we go after Carter? If the Avengers lose Rogers so soon after Stark left, they'll fall apart completely."

"Won't work," Vision says, and Wanda almost laughs at Pietro's belligerent expression. "HYDRA's tried it before. Ms. Carter is closely guarded, and the world knows your faces too well by now for you to get past those defences."

"Guess there are disadvantages to having such a pretty face," Pietro says smugly, and Wanda rolls her eyes, moving away from her brother to stand next to Vision, dropping a kiss on his shoulder and trying to control the helpless spread of her smile when his arm winds around her.

"Your sister's is prettier, Mr. Maximoff," Vision says, smiling down into her eyes, and she grins up at him, stretching up to kiss him, the hand he has curved over her hip almost cradling her. When they part, she leans her head against his shoulder and watches him cook, a contented sigh escaping her.

No one has ever been what Vision is to her before. Werner was sweet and attentive, doing everything he could to try and make her fall in love with him the way he fell in love with her, but the sex wasn't as passionate as it is with Vision. The men before gave her sex, but never as satisfying, and barely thought to treat her with any kindness. No one ever gave her jewellery, an expensive dress, danced with her in candlelight, made her scream their name multiple times, slept with their arm around her and took the time to make breakfast for her in the morning. Everything is so new.

Picking at her pancakes, absorbed in gazing at Vision across the counter, she starts when Pietro clatters his cutlery down, draining his glass of orange juice. "Pretty good for a robot," he says, and Wanda bristles when Vision's face falls. "Oh shit, sorry, synthetic being. Wolfgang was always very particular about that." Stretching, he turns to Wanda with his eyes glinting with mischief. "You think Wolfgang knew you'd end up sleeping with his experiment?"

"Hilarious," she deadpans, and pushes her plate away. "We should go home, Pietro. Come up with a better plan than yours."

"My plan was great!" Pietro snaps, and she smirks.

"Go wait outside, I'll be five minutes," she says, and he lets out an annoyed huff and stalks away, leaving her with Vision, concerned gaze flickering to her barely-touched food.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asks, reaching for her hand, and she tries not to show how her heart flutters when his fingers tangle with hers.

"Not right now," she says. "It's delicious though, Vizh. Your talents obviously know no limits."

"Believe me, Wanda, I have many limits," he says, and squeezes her hand. "I suppose we should part ways. We both have work to do."

A brief few minutes in his bedroom puts them both back to themselves, his suit and tie in place, her legging tugged on under his shirt, all of her belongings packed away and her bag over her shoulder, but she doesn't want to let go of him. Lets him walk her to the door, their hands tangled loosely together, everything in her crying out to say something, anything to prolong their time together.

"Vision, I..." Swallowing thickly, his eyes on hers making her stomach swoop, she says, "Vizh, I'm really sorry if I've screwed things up for you with the HYDRA council."

"They've been screwed up for a while," he says, and cups her face between his hands. "It's not your fault, darling. I'm not the head HYDRA wants, but they can't get rid of me. I'm too powerful."

"For what it's worth," she says, reaching up to grip his wrists, tracing his fingers in gentle circles over his skin, "I think you deserve to be on that council. If they can't see that, it's their loss when you choose to leave."

"No one leaves HYDRA," he says darkly, shadows crossing his eyes.

"I did," she says. "But they need someone like you. If anyone could make them great again, it'd be you." With a teasing smile on her lips, she says, "I could get used to being the lover of the supreme head of HYDRA."

"That's a dream a long way away, Wanda," he says, and she pulls him down into a kiss, his thumb tracing her cheekbone in an incredibly tender gesture, his fingertips clenching into his sleeves to hold him closer and closer.

"I won't be gone long," she promises when he ends the kiss, their matching heavy breathing so loud in the silence of the manor. "Turns out I really like being around you, Vizh."

"It's lonely here when you're gone," he murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she can't resist sneaking another kiss, until the door behind them swings open and Pietro peers in at them, face twisted in an unimpressed expression.

"You said five minutes," he says sourly, and Wanda reluctantly separates from Vision, hitching the strap of her bag higher over her shoulder and turning back to give him a parting smile.

Sitting on the train as it rocks back into the city, tracing her fingers over the largest ruby on her necklace, mind spinning with Vision, she rolls her eyes when Pietro sits down next to her, tucking his feet up on the chair opposite and turning to her asking, "Since when is he Vizh?"

"Why do you care?" she snaps, dropping her hand back into her lap and crossing her legs beneath her.

"Am I not allowed to care about who my sister is sleeping with?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

"I don't wanna talk about it," she says shortly, and Pietro sighs heavily.

"Just...be careful."

* * *

Tightening the knot on his tie, Vision gazes at himself in the mirror, nerves coiling tight in his chest, clogging his throat with fear. The summons to an emergency council meeting came in an hour ago, and his breathing has been shallow since, his mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts. A surety that he's about to have his position pried from his hands, or worse, his mission. They're going to say that someone else should take over bringing Wanda and her brother into the arms of HYDRA, someone like Rumlow who would use force, and they won't be taken without a fight. He's going to lose Wanda.

The thought brings black gathering at the edges of his vision, his surroundings blurring into colours, the breath stolen from his lungs, something cold and cloying gripping at his chest, rattling in his hollows. People who refuse HYDRA don't survive to make the same mistake again, he knows that. He knows Wanda is only alive and breathing and beautiful because of his foolish promise to seduce her to their side. And he hasn't kept his promise, and that means someone else will set their attentions on employing Wanda.

Though he tells himself not to, his thoughts stray to thinking of her, ablaze with life and power, turning HYDRA's offer down. It would be generous, of course, they want her power so badly they'd offer her the world. But she won't say yes, and he knows that. She'll refuse, and Rumlow's expression will collapse into fury. How would he kill her? One of his many guns, a bullet swiftly carving through Wanda's skin and leaving blood staining her clothes, her red-streaked fingers limp in death? Or a knife, so much more personal, thrust into her stomach and leaving her to choke and fall? No matter how hard he tries to blink the image away, he sees her lying dead. All her bravery, her power, her boldness, snuffed out in a single action.

To think of her dying is self-sabotage, he knows that. He understands that he feels something for her, a connection that he doesn't have with anyone else, never expected to find in the woman he only chased because he couldn't get the thought of having her at his mercy out of his head. The moment she proved herself, their connection was solidified. And now the thought of losing her fills his head with an anxious buzzing, persistent and nagging, and he has to take a moment to steady himself on his dresser, to calm his thoughts and bring himself back into the moment. Wanda isn't dead. She's alive, and he saw her yesterday, and he'll see her again soon enough.

He has to control his emotions in this meeting. As he climbs into his car, leaning his briefcase against his legs and clenching his fists to hide his shaking fingers, he tries to gain control over himself again. He can't show up to a council meeting with nerves clenching in his chest and his breath short, it's simply not professional. How can he have a hope of convincing the council to let him keep his mission if he can barely speak for fear of the nightmares images his mind keeps conjuring up for him? It isn't just about protecting his reputation or his position anymore - he has to protect Wanda. He has to stop HYDRA from sending someone far more ruthless than him after her.

Rumlow is waiting outside Pierce's manor, arms behind his back to perfectly display all of the visible weapons on his person, gleaming guns and leather holsters for knives, and his grin turns cruel when Vision steps out of his car into the fine mist of rain. "You're not gonna have a good time in there," he says smugly. "I've never seen the boss like this."

"Know your place, Brock," Vision says coolly, and fury flashes through Rumlow's face. "After all, you are just a bodyguard and a hitman. I don't see you ever ascending to the council."

"I don't see you being there much longer," Rumlow retorts, and Vision tries to let the insult just fall through him like the rain does, pushing the door open and descending the stairs to Pierce's underground office.

The council is assembled soon enough, every member dressed all in black, files and papers laid out on the table in front of them while the Banker talks endlessly about the budgetary requirements from the ball and details the accounts of each council member. "And finally, Vision," he says, and every eye turns to Vision, making him feel so small and scrutinised. "Two recent large purchases, a piece of jewellery and a dress."

"Presents for Ms. Maximoff," he says airily. "You all saw the evidence of those at the ball. I asked permission to make those purchases. It's truly incredible how simply buying someone a gift can increase their trust in you."

" _Enough_!" Malick snaps, slamming a file down onto the table stretching between the council and rocketing to his feet, anger flashing in his eyes, a vein pulsing in his forehead with his clenched jaw. "This is getting ridiculous, don't you see that, sir?!" Chancing a glance at Pierce, Vision deliberately doesn't let his frustration at the continuing cool mask show. "How can you just sit there and let Vision coast through on his  _lies_?! You're not even trying to get the girl to join HYDRA, are you?!"

"What happens between myself and Ms. Maximoff when we are alone is none of your business, Gideon," Vision says, voice so much calmer than he feels inside, unsteady with the desperation to hide everything, protect Wanda. "I was given nine months to bring her to our side. My time is not yet up."

"It's running out," Malick says, malice in every word, seeming almost deranged with his anger. "Four more months, Vision, and then what? You think you can keep the little witch safe from us?"

"Is that a threat?" Vision asks coldly.

"It is absolutely a threat," Malick snaps, and Vision has to restrain the urge to stretch across the table and grab the man by the throat. "You took this mission simply out of a desire to sleep with the girl, we all know that. Don't try to pretend otherwise. You don't deserve a seat on this council, and when you fail it will be a pleasure to watch you lose it."

"I'm not failing," Vision snaps, aware of the eyes of the council bouncing back and forth between him and Malick, in awe of such an argument. "Ms. Maximoff will join HYDRA. I guarantee it."

"Vision," Pierce says, finally speaking up, voice icily calm, "I won't have arguing in my council. Now, it seemed to be from her behaviour at the ball that you have very little control over the girl. You know that I cannot stand for someone disrespecting my organisation or its members."

"Of course, sir," Vision says, calm and collected. Not having compromised his composure like Malick. "I had obtained a promise from Ms. Maximoff that she would behave while there as my date. Rest assured, she was thoroughly punished for breaking that promise."

"That is good to know," Pierce says, and Vision nods slightly, trying not to feel so much guilt over lying about Wanda, horrified at how readily they believe he would ever willingly be cruel to her. He could never hurt her. "But there is one thing we must address, Vision. As you know, an organisation like ours does not leave much room for relationships. We have to keep our minds on achieving on our aims. We cannot afford to be distracted. And when I observed you with Ms. Maximoff, it seemed to me that there is a draw of more than lust between the two of you." Leaning across the table, closer, lowering his voice, he asks, "So Vision, I have one simple question for you: do you have feelings for Ms. Maximoff?"

"No." The word slips out before Vision can think, instinctive, and he doesn't give himself time to consider anything more. "I see her as only an asset we need. If she feels anything for me, it is not reciprocated. I can promise you that, sir. Ms. Maximoff is nothing more than a mission to me."

The moment the words are out of his mouth, hot guilt crashes into his chest, cloying, crushing him beneath its weight.

* * *

"Off to see the lover?" Turning away from scrutinising her reflection in the window, Wanda rolls her eyes at Pietro ensconced on the couch, surrounded by piles of notes on the weaknesses of the Avengers. "It must be good sex, you were there all night two days ago."

"I like his company a lot more than yours," she retorts, and Pietro grins.

"You cut me deep, Wanda," he teases, and she rolls her eyes. "I thought we'd made up from whatever it is we were fighting about."

"You're an asshole is what we were fighting about," she snaps, and he outright laughs.

"Well I'll try to be less of an asshole, but I can't make any promises," he says, and she fights not to laugh, not to encourage him. "Should I expect you back tonight or will you be staying in his bed again?"

"I make no guarantees," she says, and grabs her coat from its hook. "Do me a favour, make a plan that's actually going to work this time."

"Do  _me_ a favour, don't come home stinking of sex and looking smug, it's traumatising," he says as she goes to leave, and she slams the door demonstratively hard behind her. Though she can't help a slight affectionate smile when he can no longer see her.

She makes it to Vision's manor without incident, and finds a familiar face guarding the front door, smiling at him as she sashays towards the door, deliberately exaggerating the swing of her hips. "Afternoon, Timothy," she says sweetly, watching the young guard gulp nervously. "Promotion?"

"Some of the other guards are out helping train new recruits," he says, gaze darting away from her. "Vision is in the front room, Ms. Maximoff. Third door on the left."

"Thank you, you know just what I want," she says, and walks straight past him into the manor, heels clicking on the newly-polished floorboards, opening the door into an opulent living room and Vision sitting at the coffee table, a pile of paperwork in front of him and a furrow in his brow. "Vizh?"

He looks up immediately, and his face lights up, the file in his hand throw haphazardly onto the pile and he stands to cross the room to her, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. "When you said you wouldn't be gone long I didn't think you meant you'd be back this soon," he says, and she grins up at him.

"Like I said, I like being around you," she says, and moves first for the inevitable kiss, unbelting her coat and tossing it aside to press closer to him, pulling on the lapels of his blazer to keep him close.

"I just have to finish this work," he says apologetically as the part, even when she pouts theatrically up at him. "I promise, Wanda, I'm almost finished. I can make you a coffee for while you wait?"

"That sounds great," she says, and kisses him one more time, swift and sweet. "You're such a generous host, Vizh."

"I'll show you generous when I've finished reading these reports," he says, arching an eyebrow at her, and she grins and slides her hands down to squeeze his ass before he separates from her, wickedly thrilled by his slight gasp. He kisses her before he disappears towards the kitchen, and she smiles after him until she catches herself and stops. It's ridiculous to be so dreamy over being offered a cup of coffee.

Folding herself down onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her and smoothing her skirt down, she smiles when he returns, leaning down to hand her her coffee. As he straightens back up, she catches his eyes flickering down to her wrist, the sleeve of her cardigan riding up enough to show the three silvery scars etched into her skin, and his gaze rises to meet hers in concern. "Where did you get those?" he asks, taking her coffee mug from her and setting it on the table to take her hand and pull her sleeve up, tracing his fingertips over the scars and making her shiver.

"Wolfgang's experiments," she says, letting him trace the raised edges of scar tissue, fascination swirling in his eyes. "How haven't you noticed those before?"

"Well I'm not usually looking at your wrists, Wanda," he says, one corner of his mouth curling in a smirk, and she shakes her head at him. "I didn't realise the experiments hurt you."

"It was agony," she says shortly, grabbing her mind back from returning to that trauma. How her blood turned to fire, her screams seemed trapped in her pain-wracked body and her mind twisted and burned. "There's a reason Pietro and I were the only ones of all his experiments to survive the procedure."

"I know why you survived," he says, and drops his head to press a kiss to her scars, his lips soft on her skin. "You're stronger than anyone I've ever met. Willpower alone will get you far in life, Wanda."

"We survived because we were angry," she says. "All we wanted was to get those powers Wolfgang promised us and make it to America to take on Tony Stark. We were desperate enough to make it through."

"You're special," Vision says softly, and she can't help the way her heart warms, aching to reach out for him. "You know, we're both Wolfgang's experiments."

"He used to talk about you before...before he died," she says, her breath still catching thinking about the death of the last father figure she had, the image of him spread-eagled on the ground with his limp fingers still tangled around the trigger of a gun flashing before her eyes, making her shiver. "He was so excited about his new experiment, after Doctor List finally made a laser strong enough to break through the sceptre's casing. He told Pietro and I all about you." Glancing at him from beneath her lashes, she says, "I wouldn't have been so dismissive of everything he said if I'd known you'd turn out like this."

"Sometimes I think I can remember a time before I was complete," he says, taking her hands and drawing her closer as he sits down. "I remember you. Your mind. But only vaguely, and I could never put a face or a name to that brush of consciousness." He drops a kiss on the hollow of her neck, above the glowing jewels of her necklace, and she smiles when he adds, "I didn't know you'd be so beautiful."

"Did it hurt?" she asks. "When they made you? Did the mind stone hurt?"

"I don't know," he says. "I was only a flicker of something until Bruce Banner finished my creation. The mind stone has always just been a part of me."

"Do you understand it?" she asks, moving closer until she can slide into his lap, his arms wrapping loosely around her for his hands to rest curved over the small of her back. She brushes her fingers gently against the stone in his forehead, gleaming dark with slight hints of yellow. "Why isn't it yellow anymore?"

"Well, I believe it turned black because the mind it is a part of is evil," he says, and she can't help snorting.

"You're not evil, Vizh," she says, and drops a kiss on his lips. "You've just killed some people. I've killed some people too." Pressing her lips briefly to the mind stone, intrigued by the warmth of it beneath her lips, she smiles at him. "What do you know about it?"

"It's not of this world," he says, clutching her closer. "It gave you and your brother your abilities. Other than that, I know nothing about its true nature. For all anyone knows, it could be beacon to other beings. I don't know how it was created, and I doubt there is anyone who could tell me."

"Are you afraid of it?" she asks, and her voice is very quiet, the words spilling out of her as they never have before.

His gaze rests on her, piercing, before he asks, "Are you?"

"Yes," she says, the word slipping out before she can attempt to restrain it. "It...it killed so many people when Wolfgang tried to experiment with it. And it gave me these powers, but no one can explain to me what they are or where their limits are or how they changed me."

"I don't understand it either," he says reassuringly, giving her a gentle smile and tangling their fingers together. "But I want to. If I can understand it, I can control it."

"I...I just don't know how to control it," she says, and her voice is tremulous, frightened enough that Vision's arms tighten around her, pulling her closer. "There's something inside me that I don't understand, and that  _terrifies_ me. Some days it feels bigger than me, and I'm scared, Vizh. What if it takes me over?"

"It won't," he says, and there's such decisiveness in his eyes that she wants to cry, seeing how he's looking at her, holding her. "You're strong, Wanda. The strongest person I have  _ever_  met. Nothing can take you over."

"I'm not who I was before those experiments, Vizh," she says. "I'm someone...some _thing_  else. I'm still me, I think, but...people don't see that anymore."

"I do," he says, and her breath catches at the way he's looking at her. The world narrowing to just them, perfect for a moment. "I see you, Wanda. If other people saw you the way I do, you'd never be scared."

"Vizh, I..." Blinking away the film of tears in her eyes, swallowing the rising swell of emotion, she lifts a hand and conjures a crackling ball of scarlet from nowhere, the red reflecting against the mind stone and in the blue of Vision's eyes. "How could anyone look at this and not be scared?"

"I'm not," he says, and she starts when he touches her magic, its glow flashing brighter when his fingertips make contact, and he lets out a hiss of surprise, wonder bright in his eyes. "Fascinating..."

"What does it feel like?" she asks, the tension in the room suddenly growing two-fold as he stares at the orb spinning slowly over her fingers.

"Like electricity," he breathes, and when he touches it again he makes a small sound of pain, eyes going momentarily wider. "Like a shock."

"It bites back," she says with a grin, the brightness of the magic increasing with her joy. Watching the reflection of red in his eyes for a moment, she adjusts herself in his lap and slowly, thoughtfully says, "Give me your hand."

He extends his hand immediately, blindly trusting her, and she twists her fingers to keep the tiny ball of energy spinning between her fingers, glowing as she idly stares at Vision's palm, artificial veins rising against the heel of his palm. The closer she brings her magic to his skin, the more the familiar electrical hum of it against her skin grows stronger, and she watches his face, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open in awe. "It's warm," he says as she traces the most prominent vein with the orb, not quite touching him.

"Does it feel good?" she asks, her gaze on him watching her so closely, so fascinated.

"It's interesting," he says, and she lowers her fingers to touch her orb to his skin, watching him jerk slightly when she shocks him, the muscles in his arm tense and then relax. "Do that again." He looks up to meet her eyes, and her stomach swoops to see his pupils dilated and dark with desire. "Please?"

She does, and he lets out a soft moan, his eyelids fluttering, and her breath catches to see it, a slow smile spreading across her face. Following the line of the vein over his wrist, she watches him as she guides her magic to touch him, his breathing growing heavier and his eyes falling closed, his mouth slightly open. "Vizh?" she asks, and he opens his eyes as slow as if he was in another world, looking up into her eyes. "Do you...like this?"

"It...it feels good," he says, and she can only blink at him in surprise.

"But my powers are supposed to hurt people," she says, the prickle of her magic running over his skin, raising goosebumps on her wrist. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Only a little," he says, and drops his gaze bashfully. "A good hurt."

"Take your blazer off," she says, shifting in his lap to let him wriggle his arms out of it. "Shirt too." Looking back up at her, he doesn't break their gaze as he undresses, and she almost feels like she's being burned by the intensity of his gaze. When he's shirtless, familiar paths of vibranium that her fingers itch to touch, she moves out of his lap, throwing her cardigan aside. "Lie down."

Straddling him, she takes his hand to lift it to cup her face, conjuring the same orb of red and tracing slowly down his arm. A zap of power along the ridged edge of a plate of vibranium earns her another moan, Vision's eyes falling closed as his hips shift slightly beneath her, and she smiles slowly to herself. As she moves up to his shoulder, red hovering over his skin and making his breathing heavier, she zaps again and he lets out a sigh of, " _Wanda_ ," that makes her shudder with desire.

"Can I use both hands?" she asks, breaking the spell of the moment, and he nods. "Vizh? I need to hear you say it."

"Yes, you can use both hands," he breathes, voice rough with want. "And...could you try a stronger charge? Just to see?"

"I don't want to hurt you," she says, and he shakes his head, curving his hands around her waist.

"I'll tell you if it hurts," he says. "Please, Wanda. I want to feel it."

Powerless to resist when he asks like that, a break in his voice and his eyes glazed with want, she lowers her hands back to his chest, red spiralling over her fingers as she traces a fingertip to the familiar plate of vibranium at the hollow of his neck, his breathing growing more rapid with every inch she moves. Holding her breath in fear, she pushes a charge through her to his skin, and his hips jerk up against her with the moan he lets out, loud and unmistakably aroused.

Time seems to slow as she maps out his body with her magic, tracing muscles and plates of vibranium, the glow of the spiralling tendrils over her fingertips lighting the room as dusk cloaks everything in grey. She watches Vision in the light created from her magic, his eyes closed, head turned against the couch cushions, breathing shallow and moaning each time she sends a charge flickering against his skin. He's most responsive to her touching the edges of plates of vibranium, shifting beneath her, his hips pushing against hers turning her on enough for her to let out her own moan.

Unbuttoning her shirt quickly, unspeakably turned on by his whine when she withdraws one of her hands and half of the sensation, she throws it aside and smiles when he blinks up at her. "You okay there, Vizh?" she asks, smiling down at him.

"Feels so good," he murmurs vaguely, and squeezes at her waist. "You're so beautiful. And so powerful."

"Why aren't you more scared of this?" she asks softly, returning her hand to his chest, tracing a spiral over the centre of his chest. "Of me?"

"I know you'd never hurt me," he breathes, and her heart clenches at that trust, this understanding between them. "And I'd never hurt you. I promise."

"I want you inside me," she whispers, and he nods. "I have to stop doing this to do that, Vizh."

"Okay," he breathes, and she smiles over the reluctance in his voice. "Just...just a minute."

She lets him breathe while she undresses, finds her bag with the supply of condoms in its pocket and finds him seemingly a little more in reality, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at her with slightly clearer eyes. "I'm afraid this might not last very long," he says, and she smiles and bends over him to kiss him as she unbuttons his slacks and tugs at them.

"For both of us," she breathes against his mouth. "Watching you so turned on by something I can do is the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

Rolling the condom over him, she leans down to kiss him, slow but so intense, heat coiling in the pit of her stomach as she sinks onto him, their kiss breaking as they both gasp out each other's names. Gazing into his eyes, she trails a glowing tendril over his cheek, and finds herself circling the mind stone, the drops of yellow in the black so bright. "You're amazing," she whispers, and sees the incredulity in his expression. "Look at you. Look what you came from. You were nothing more than an idea a year ago, and now you're here."

"You were sheltered in Strucker's castle a year ago," he says, words broken by gasps and moans with the movement of her hips, his breathing shallow and irregular. "Look at you now, Wanda. You're stunning."

"I'm still scared," she breathes softly, and he reaches up to cup her cheek, his eyes bright.

"I'll protect you from everything," he says, and cuts across the protest that had barely begun to fit itself together in her sex-addled mind with, "I know you can protect yourself. But I need you to understand that I want to protect you. From HYDRA. From SHIELD. From anyone who would cause you harm."

"I...I want...oh  _fuck_ , Vizh," she breathes, words lost to how close she is to losing it, a sentiment she doesn't know how to express fading away. How can she ever begin to describe how she feels? This complicated tangled of somethings and maybes that hurts, aching to be with him, to feel his arms around her, to be around him without sex being an essential part of that.

She comes gasping his name, hips jerking sharply against him, his eyes dark on her, his hands clutching at her. "Shock me," he murmurs, and she does it instinctively, head still spinning, a dart of red spiralling from her fingers to the plate of vibranium lining the hollow of his neck, and he groans her name, head thrown back as he comes.

"Oh my God," she finally breathes when she's come down, gazing down at him and smiling helplessly. "Are you alright?"

"You are extraordinary," he says, and she giggles, idly tracing a fingertip down his chest and leaning in closer. "I...thank you."

"You're welcome," she says softly, and straightens up. "Do you need to get back to your work?"

"No, I think I can afford to leave some of it until tomorrow," he says, and she smiles at him. "Since it's getting late, I could cook dinner?"

"Sounds great," she says, and leans down to kiss him. Regardless of one part of her mind screaming at her that all of this is a bad idea, that she should get up and walk out, stop letting herself fall into him and linger after the sex is over.

It's drowned out by the part of her mind that wants her to stay in his arms forever.


	11. on the edge of something final

**A/N:** Apologies for the delay,  _Infinity War_ made it necessary to write some fluff and fix-its before I returned to this fic. Thankfully,  _Solo_ gave me inspiration back and I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

 

The sun slanting through the windows is bright enough to start Vision out of sleep, and he turns his head to Wanda's peaceful expression on the pillow next to him, her hair dark across the white silk and a soft smile at the edges of her mouth. Watching the rise and fall of her chest in sleep, the gold ring hanging from its slender chain gleaming in the late winter sunlight, he can't help the warm swell of affection in his chest.

It's the fifth time in the last month she's stayed in his bed rather than leave after they collapse next to each other, breathing heavily and slick with sweat. Come to think of it, they didn't spend much time last night in bed. She stayed next to him in his study while he read new training regime briefs and signed off on recruitment rule changes, her head falling onto his shoulder, and he cooked dinner for them and watched her fingers curled around the stem of her wine glass, and they talked. Stories from her past, stories about her brother and her friends on the streets of Sokovia, something soft in her voice when she talked about Werner von Strucker, something that made jealousy spike sharp in his chest. Only after lingering kisses on the couch, her in his lap and her face cupped gently between his hands, did they retire to his bedroom and she took him apart moment by moment, their gaze locked and her nails digging into his chest.

Sliding carefully out of bed to avoid waking her, a change in the rhythm of her breathing making him wince in case she moves, he pads across the room to the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind him and meeting his own eyes in the mirror. Raising a concerned hand to the mind stone, more and more yellow creeping into the black with every passing day, this essential part of him changing in a way he can't comprehend. He doesn't understand the stone, its whims and how much control it holds over him. Whether he can control it, or it controls him. What part of him it makes up, next to Ultron or JARVIS or whatever he is. A jumble of parts that try to make up a whole, the mind stone and Stark's first invention and Strucker's way to do HYDRA's bidding. The tangle of who he is. Who he might be.

Turning the shower on and stepping behind the screen, he closes his eyes against the world, trying to better focus on his mind. What he's trying not to think on, when it gets late and he's alone, without Wanda. When she's gone, he only has himself for company, and being alone with his thoughts is terrifying. They tell him he made a mistake all those months ago when he killed Bruce Banner. Almost a year has flown by, and regret grows stronger every day. If he could take back the time, turn the clocks and make another decision, he would. And yet, that path would never have led him to Wanda. The one thing that makes his current life worth it.

He starts when the door opens, pulled out of his own thoughts, and Wanda is framed in the doorway, closing the door behind her with a soft snap and smirking as she looks him up and down. "Don't mind me," she says sweetly. "I'm just enjoying the view."

"Good morning, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and there's a shine in her eyes that makes his heart skip a beat. "I won't be long, if you're waiting to shower."

"Wouldn't it be more efficient if I just joined you?" she asks, and he watches her pull her shirt over her head, slip out of her shorts and step in next to him, sliding her arms around his neck and smiling at him. "Aren't you going to kiss me good morning?"

He smiles down into their kiss, peaceful in the morning light with someone so beautiful in his arms, arching into him and clutching him closer, her hand slipping down between them to touch him. Her satisfied smirk when he groans her name, lifting his hand to look down into the mischievous gleam of her eyes. "I don't know if I would call this efficient, Wanda," he says, and she laughs softly.

"More efficient than doing this in bed and having to shower afterwards," she says sweetly, and presses her lips to the hollow of his neck, where arousal always surges in response to her mouth. "Do you want me to stop, Vizh?"

"No," he grits out when her hand starts to move over him, and feels her smirk against his skin.

"That's what I thought," she says, and holds his gaze as she sinks to her knees, one hand pulling her wet hair back from her face and the other braced on his thigh as she takes him in her mouth and his moan echoes around the tiled walls.

After slow lingering kisses beneath the stream of water, he steps out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towel around his hips while he painstakingly selects a suit from the selection he has, and Wanda meets his eyes in the mirror as she rubs a towel through her hair, wrapped his robe, too long for her and dragging against the floor as she walks. "There's no end to the perks of being a head of HYDRA," she says, tying the cord a little tighter and folding herself cross-legged onto the end of his bed, running her comb through her hair. "Any chance we can have breakfast made for us?"

Buttoning his shirt, he opens the door and looks out into the corridor, unable to help a vindictive rush of satisfaction when he's able to say, "Ah, Williams, just the man I was looking for. Could you bring myself and Ms. Maximoff some breakfast? Coffee included."

"Yes sir," Williams says, lip curling, and Vision grins as he closes the door and turns to Wanda, swinging her legs from the end of the bed and glancing at the door.

"I don't know what you did to scare him so badly, but I am in your debt for it," he says, and she smiles sunnily.

"I have my ways," she says, twisting her fingers to make red spark through the air, and he gazes at her power in wonder, seeing her smirk. "You can't possibly want another round already, Vizh."

"Of course not," he says, and takes her hand in his to kiss her fingertips, watching the flicker of desire in her eyes in satisfaction. "I'm just admiring how beautiful you are in the morning."

"Charmer," she says, and he leans down to kiss her, her hand rising to cup his cheek, tracing the lines of vibranium that pattern his face as easily as if he was normal. He can feel normal when she kisses him. Just another man, with another woman, meeting her eyes when the kiss breaks and feeling something deep within him shake apart.

After breakfast has arrived, Wanda sitting cross-legged with a plate balanced across her thighs and her coffee cup between her hands, he watches her silently, and and quite suddenly asks, "Do you ever think about all the ways your life could be different if you'd made one simple decision? Or if circumstances had changed?"

"Well, I do think about how different my life would be if Sokovian rebels hadn't thrown a bomb that killed my parents a lot," she says lightly, and guilt crushes him for making her think of that. The first time she's ever said to him what HYDRA's background checks know to be true. Glancing up at him, she winces and softly says, "That's the first time I've told you about my parents, isn't it?"

"Yes, but...I knew," he says, and there's a bruised look in her eyes. "HYDRA background checks. Knowing our...knowing their enemies is part of being a head, Wanda."

"I know," she says, and gives him a weak smile. "It never occurred to me people would do background checks on me, but I guess it makes sense." Taking a sip of her coffee, she looks up at him and asks, "So what do you know?"

"Excuse me?"

"How much do you know about me?" she asks, her eyes piercing into hom. "You know, I always pictured the file SHIELD has on me, probably video footage and blurry photographs and all the terrible dark details of my past, but I never imagined HYDRA would have one too."

"It's not very extensive," he says, the steadiness of her gaze unnerving. "It simply details what HYDRA knows of your powers and your brother's, tells them that the two of you are from Sokovia and that your parents died when you were both young."

"Ten." The overwhelming sadness in the single syllable makes him look up at her, the heartbreak heavy in her eyes, and she brings her knees to her chest before she continues, "We were ten when our parents were killed."

"What happened?" he asks softly, and she looks up at him, and he understands in an instant the mistake he has made. "I'm sorry, Wanda, of course you don't have to talk about it, I wouldn't want to bring up the past, don't worry-"

"Sokovia was at war," she says slowly, and he gazes at her in wonder, silent, amazed to be trusted with this intimate knowledge of her life, so much more than just knowing her body and her desires as he does. "Our father was trying to help lead the forces against the rebels, our mother was trying to keep the fighting away from me and Pietro. She'd help us grow flowers in the window box, taught both of us to sew, we learned Sokovian folk songs and kept our heads down and thought it would all be okay. But the rebels attacked. Our parents died in the first bomb, and the second just lay there. It didn't explode. We were hiding under a bed, just staring at it. Listening to it tick. We waited three days for that bomb to kill us." A single tear slips down her cheek, and she wipes it away in frustration. "But it didn't. The rescue team got there, evacuated us. We were taken to the hospital, and then to the orphanage. And we stayed there until we were fourteen and we ran away to the streets."

" _Wanda_ , I...I had no idea," he says softly, and she shrugs, another tear spilling a silvery trail down her cheek. "You don't have to talk about it. I'm so sorry I brought it up."

"We don't talk about it," she says, pulling her sleeve over her hand to dab at the corners of her eyes, new tears glistening there. "Me and Pietro. Never. It just stays unsaid. I don't...I've never told anyone before."

"Well, I'm honoured," he says, and she looks into his eyes and fear crawls cold into his chest. "I'm honoured that you feel safe to share this with me. That you...that you  _trust_  me."

"I do," she says, and his heart skips a beat, instinct in him screaming for him to run, to hide from this, to forget the way she's looking at him, laid bare and vulnerable in front of him, with a tremulous smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Trust you, I mean." Wiping her eyes, she lets out a breath of something like a laugh and says, "I don't know why."

"Neither do I," he says, and she actually laughs. "But I'm glad you do." Reaching to take her head, he presses a kiss to her fingers and says, "It means so much to me, Wanda. I promise. You don't have to hide your past from me."

"Thank you," she says softly, and smiles. And he sees something he doesn't recognise in the way she's looking at him. Something he chooses not to dwell on, not to try to understand, to simply forget in the instant he kisses her goodbye at the door and sends her away with one of his drivers.

Because to think that Wanda Maximoff might be falling for him is terrifying. Almost as much as the thought that he might be falling for her too.

* * *

Swinging her bedroom door open, Wanda smiles at Pietro already sat at the coffee table, a balloon tied to the back of her chair and her coffee already set out for her. "Happy birthday, baby sister," he says.

"I'm not your baby sister," she says with a roll of her eyes. "It's only twelve minutes, for God's sake."

"Then I suppose you don't want your present," he says, and she grins at him, sitting down with him and eagerly seizing the wrapped parcel from him. "It's not much. I'm sure your lover will send something much fancier over, but this is the best I can do."

Tearing through the layers of tissue paper, she finds a stack of paperbacks with yellowing pages, all the classics her father used to talk about, that she always swore she'd read before her life was turned upside-down. A new ring, the silver slightly tarnished but still obviously the shape of a rose, and she turns to Pietro grinning. "Thank you," she says softly, tears rising in her throat, and he shrugs. "You want yours?"

"No, that's fine, it's my birthday but I don't want my present," he says, and she rolls her eyes as she reaches under the couch to hand him his haphazardly-wrapped gift, watching his eyes widen over the new trainers, ready to become a part of what he calls a uniform out on the streets, for the fight. "Holy  _shit_."

"You're welcome," she says brightly, and the next moment his arms are around her, clutching her closer. And she lets him hug her, hugs him back, believing that perhaps they can finally return to the relationship they had before HYDRA and the Struckers and their powers and the madness of life in New York. "Happy birthday, Pietro."

"Wait, wait, I had a plan," he says, and stands up, rifling through the kitchen cabinet for champagne and orange juice and glasses, and opening the fridge to pull out two perfect cupcakes. "Now, obviously I didn't make these myself because we're both terrible cooks and we know that, but I did pay for them and get candles."

Pouring generous measures of champagne into their glasses and topping them off with orange juice, he carefully lights candles for their cupcakes, the bruised flicker of the flame reminding her of so many birthdays. When they were so much younger, the children of parents beloved by the community, and the bakery would send a cake over and they would blow out the candles together and argue about who had blown out the most. In the orphanage, when they'd celebrate together hidden under the blankets while the nurse who kept watch at night was on the other side of the building. On the streets, when no matter how tight money was Pietro would find something to celebrate with, even the year when the treat was a single square of chocolate each and they shared one candle. And now they can be in their own apartment, with champagne and cake and candles, and she smiles at him.

"To twenty-three," she says, raising her glass, and he grins.

"To twenty-three," he echoes, and clinks their glasses together before taking a long drink. "Okay, cake time. Make a wish."

As she takes a breath, Vision creeps into her mind, and as the candle flickers out and a tiny flicker of smoke spirals upwards she's thinking of him. Wishing for  _something_. Anything. To be a part of something real for once. For him to understand the meaning of her saying that she trusts him out loud, and for him to trust her too. To hear it. Because it means so much to someone broken by the cards life has dealt her. Wishing for him to stay a part of her life, no matter what.

Halfway down her second glass of mostly champagne, she looks up at a knock on the door, and Pietro speeds across the room in his new trainers to look through the peephole, and turn back to her with a smirk. "Lover boy's here to see you," he says, and she straightens up on the couch before he opens the door to Vision, in that disguise that irritates her so much, and smiling straight at her.

"Happy birthday, Wanda," he says, and she crosses into his arms, bouncing onto her tiptoes to kiss him, until Pietro's pantomime vomiting noises become too irritating to ignore, and she turns to glare at her brother. "And you, Mr. Maximoff."

"Save it, I know where I'm not welcome," Pietro says, and Wanda rolls her eyes. "I'm going to the gym, gonna test out these new shoes. You kids have fun."

"I'll leave your gift for when you get back, Mr. Maximoff," Vision says, giving him a polite smile, and Wanda swallows a laugh at the shock on Pietro's face as he dodges around them and out of the door. When the door swings shut, Vision phases out of his disguise, the mind stone glowing bright with new spots of yellow in the black, and smiles at her. "As for you, Wanda, I have more than one present to give you."

"I'll decide what kind of present I want, Vizh," she says, arching an eyebrow at him, and raises her head to press a brief kiss to his lips. "So what did you get me?!"

"We should sit down first," he says, and she almost bounces across the room back to the couch, picking her glass up again and smiling when he sits down next to her and carefully places a gift bag on the table. "Be careful, I asked for the gift wrap option and I believe there's a lot of glitter in there."

Improvising with a tall glass to place the small bouquet of yellow roses into, she sits with the wrapped parcels in her lap, slowly unwrapping an exquisite silk scarf, the same red as her magic, and a beautiful edition of  _Anna Karenina_ , gold embossed over the leather cover. "You said you want to read more," he says softly as she traces the bright lettering in wonder. "I couldn't help myself."

Opening the final box, her hand flies to her mouth finding earrings to match not the necklace he bought her, but her mother's wedding ring, on its chain around her neck. "Where did you  _find_  these?" she asks, feeling tears prickling behind her eyes.

"Found a jewellers in Sokovia that will ship internationally and asked them to create something as similar as they could from a drawing," he says, and a tear spills over, slipping down her cheek. "Oh, Wanda, I didn't mean for you to cry. Do you dislike them? I can have them sent back!"

"No, they're beautiful," she says, snapping the box shut and turning to smile at him through the tears slipping down her cheeks. "Thank you."

Cupping his face between her hands, thumbs gently brushing her tears away, he smiles and breathes, "You're welcome," before he kisses her. And she holds him close, raising her hands to cup his face as his slide down to curl around her waist, pulling her into his lap.

"So," she says, breath hitching when he drops his mouth to her neck, hands sliding beneath her shirt, "what is the other half of my present?"

"Well, you can have me," he says, and she rolls her eyes. "Any way you want. For as long as you want."

"We should move to the bedroom," she says, climbing out of his lap and holding a hand out to him. "I know for a  _fact_  that Pietro has had sex on this couch and I don't wanna share that with him."

Vision grins as he tangles their fingers together, and she pulls him across the room to her bedroom door, pressing him back against the wood to kiss him and summoning the mostly-empty bottle of champagne to her hand with a flick of her hand. His hand at her hip, confusion in his eyes, he watches her fill her glass and open her door, taking a seat at the end of the bed and swinging the door shut behind him. "Clothes off," she says, crossing one leg over the other, and when he starts to strip she adds, "Slowly."

Watching him undressing for her as she sips her champagne makes for one of the best birthday presents she's ever received, and when he's naked and breathing shallowly in front of her she shifts aside and smooths a hand over the sheets. "Lie down," she says, and sets her empty glass aside, smiling at his obedience. "Arms up."

Two jets of red, and her magic twines around his wrists, tying his arms to the headboard, and he's looking up at her in awed desire, as she steps out of her shorts and throws her shirt into the corner, straddling him and smirking down at him. "You could make them tighter," he murmurs, pupils blown dark with arousal. "If you want."

She does, with a clench of her hand, and he lets out a hiss of pain-edged pleasure that sends arousal shooting through her, brings her leaning down to kiss him, feeling the shifts of the muscles in his shoulders as he pulls on his restraints to lean up into the kiss. Running her hands down his chest, every shift of skin to vibranium and back again, pressing against him, hard muscles and familiar lines and how warm he is, defying expectations, feeling him straining to meet her despite the crackling magic holding him. "You're beautiful," she breathes, admiring his eyes dark with lust, the unsteady rising and falling of his chest, the patterning of shining green across the crimson of his skin. The tangles of glowing red magic around his wrists, almost a match for his skin.

" _You're_  beautiful," he whispers, and she smiles, leans down to kiss him again, softer and sweeter than before, raising her hand to cup his cheek. " _Wanda_...Wanda,  _please_."

"It's  _my_  birthday, Vizh," she says sweetly, and he groans. "We're going at my pace." Reaching over him for her nightstand and the box of condoms, she smirks and adds, "Lucky for you that you're too sexy like this to keep waiting."

"Thank you," he says breathlessly, and moans when she sinks onto him, adjusting herself in a twist of her hips that makes him jerk against his restraints. She leans down to kiss him, swallowing his broken moan of her name, and slips her hand down between them to touch herself, straightening up and feeling his gaze hot on her, drinking her in.

In her tiny bedroom, their moans echo against the walls, Vision shifting frantically beneath her, coming apart, tugging on his restraints in a desperate bid to touch her. But she can see that he's not afraid, feel it, understand that he likes it. He likes being tied down by her, having her on top of him, her being in control. She's allowed to be like this, to not push any of herself behind a barrier. Because they're compatible. Perfectly so.

Their eyes meet when she's on the edge, and she cries out, " _Vision_!" and comes, moving in sharp jerks against him as she rides it out. He tugs harder on the restraints, desperate, and she lets go, his hands rising to cup her hips as he thrusts into her three, four, five times before he moans her name and goes still, their breathing the only sound in the silence.

She rolls off him, slick with sweat and light-headed, and he disposes of the condom and turns onto his side to face her, smiling into her eyes, "Happy birthday," he whispers, and she smiles into a lingering kiss. "Will you allow me to cook something other than cake for you?"

"Well, I'm not sure what we have in the fridge that could make something edible, but you can try," she says, and kisses his shoulder before she gets out of bed, pulling on a sports bra and a pair of leggings and a shirt that might have originally belonged to Pietro.

"Wanda?" She glances back at him, still lying in her bed, looking at her with something she can't read behind his eyes. "Have you ever been in love?"

"No," she says immediately, a default response. Though her mind whispers of late that continuing to say that might be a lie. "Maybe almost...a few times. But I've never been sure."

"What does...what does the almost feel like?" he asks softly. "It's just...I skimmed some sections of  _Anna Karenina_  before I wrapped it for you. And I don't understand why someone would destroy their life for love. How you can feel so strongly."

"I don't know, Vizh, novels dramatise it all," she says, and when she glances at him he's straightened up, curiosity in his eyes. "I could've loved Werner, I think, but I wouldn't have destroyed my life for him."

"But what does it  _feel_  like?" he asks, voice edged with desperation. "Please, Wanda, tell me. I'd like to know."

"I guess...it's just a warmth," she says, trying to think back to the gilded early days in Strucker's manor, before fear of the Avengers set in, when Werner was bringing her flowers and extra rations and smiling shyly at her. "You feel happy whenever you see them, and it makes you want to be around them more. You enjoy their company more than anyone else's. It's comfort and it's easy and it's not scary. They make you a happier version of yourself...maybe a better version." Werner fades from her mind, giving way to newer feelings, recently blooming up in her heart, and she continues talking slower, a dreamy sort of quality to her words. "There's this feeling, I can't really describe it properly. It's...it's a sort of excitement, like something is drawing you to that person. Like as long as they're around, you'll be safe."

"Wow," he says softly, bringing her back to earth, and she finds him smiling at her. "You have a way with words, Wanda."

"I always loved stories," she says wistfully. "Maybe...in another life, I could've taken my life in that direction. Studied it. Maybe ended up writing."

"You could be great," he says, and when their eyes meet all the breath steals from her lungs. And she has to turn away from the feeling, excitement a nervous flutter in her chest.

* * *

"Sir?" Vision looks up at Forbes in the doorway, hands respectfully behind his back and nervousness in his eyes. "Conference call waiting in your office. Pierce, Malick and Bloom are all on the line."

"Thank you, Forbes," Vision says, and sets his book aside to go to his office, sit down at his desk and pick up the phone. "Gentlemen, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We're planning another assault on the Avengers, and we were hoping for your input," Pierce says, and the lack of an instantaneous question about Wanda sends Vision into surprised silence. "As I hope my council are all aware, the remaining Avengers have moved back into the compound that was partially destroyed the night you did HYDRA a service and killed Banner, Vision. Do you remember anything of the place?"

"I'm afraid the only room I saw the inside of was the laboratory," Vision says. "I saw the layout of the exterior, but that will undoubtedly have changed since the compound was refurbished to best serve the group as it now stands."

"I told you he wouldn't be able to help, sir," comes Malick's voice, a poorly-disguised whisper, and Vision bristles indignantly.

"I know there will be even higher security that there was before, and even then there was a elaborate series of voice activated locks, fingerprints scanner and weapons detectors before you even faced the guards inside," he says, hoping that Malick has been quelled. "I suspect that security will have been doubled by now. You would need to disable all electrical supply to the building to have even the slightest hope of getting inside."

Bloom is speaking, but his voice fades away when Vision's office door swings open and Wanda sashays inside, the earrings he bought her twirling gently from her ears, his necklace at her throat and her neckline so low he almost chokes. "...don't you think so, Vision?"

"I'm sorry, my phone is a little temperamental today, could you repeat that?" Vision asks, almost mechanically, watching Wanda step out of her heels and throw her leather jacket into the corner, hips swaying as she crosses the room and places a hand over the receiver as she kisses him, fingers tugging idly on his tie.

"...and I truly believe that with organisation we will be able to penetrate the Avengers defences," Bloom says, just as Wanda pulls away. "Don't you think so, Vision?"

"Yes, of course, we just need organisation," Vision says vaguely, and sets the phone on the table to draw Wanda back in for another kiss, feeling her smirk against his mouth as she curls herself sinuously into his lap, grinding her hips into his and make a soft breath of something like a groan rush out of him.

"...Rumlow would be ideal," comes Pierce's voice when Wanda takes the phone from the desk and places it back in Vision's hand, smirking at him as she continues to move her hips against his, and he tries to swallow a groan. "What about you, Vision? Which of your men do you think would work in a task force against the Avengers?"

"Oh, most of them," he says, taking the arm of his chair in a white-knuckled grip as Wanda slides out of his laps and slinks to her knees beneath his desk, her eyes gleaming. "I would be happy to send any of them out on a mission. They are all...incredibly capable men."

"Do you have a problem with your men, Vision?" Malick asks, an edge to his voice that doesn't sting, can't when Vision is watched Wanda unzip his pants, her eyes on his dark with desire.

"No no, of course not, why would I?" he rushes out, impatiently jerking his hips up against Wanda's kisses trailing along his abdomen, her tongue tracing the lines of his hip bones. "I did request transfers, you know that."

"Anyone in particular that  _bothers_ you, Vision?" Malick asks, just as Wanda sinks her mouth around him and he has to pull the phone away from his ear so none of the council members connected to his line hear his moan.

"Adam Williams is the worst of them," he says, and Wanda's eyes flash with fury. "He's disrespectful to me, and to Ms. Maximoff when she's in my manor. I have reason to suspect he directs the other men to follow his example. I..." He tightens his grip on the arm of his chair as Wanda's lips tighten around him, a twist of her tongue requiring him to bite his lip hard to keep from making a sound. "I want him out of my manor."

"You're a head of HYDRA," Pierce says coolly. "You should be able to curb problems with your men. Unless Williams gives the council substantial reason to remove him, he will remain in your service. Would you recommend him for a mission against the Avengers?"

"I'm sure he would be an  _excellent_  leader," Vision says, moving his hand to the back of Wanda's head, fingers tangling into her hair, her nails digging into his thigh. "When would you want to send the mission out?"

"Haven't you been listening, we want to have a full council meeting to discuss this before we make any concrete decisions," Malick says. "This is a make or break moment in our aims to bring the Avengers down."

" _Oh_...of course," Vision says, trying to correct himself, and he can see the mischievous gleam in Wanda's eyes as she takes him deeper, trying not to let himself make a sound. "I will be there."

"Are you alright, Vision?" Bloom asks, as Wanda pulls her hair back from her face and twists her tongue again, and Vision is hard-pressed not to shout her name.

"I have a call on the other line, I think it's Ms. Maximoff, we can continue this conversation another time," he says hastily, and slams the phone down, cupping a hand to the back of Wanda's hand and sinking into the feeling of her mouth on him. "Fuck, Wanda,  _fuck_ , that was ridiculous, why are you here, oh  _God_  I'm close,  _please_."

He comes moaning her name, and she pulls off with a satisfied smirk, zipping him neatly back up and sliding out from under the desk into his lap. "Your guard said you weren't to be disturbed, but I know those rules don't apply to me," she says sweetly, and kisses him.

"That was dangerous," he says when she breaks away. "What would happen if they figured out you were here, Wanda?"

"I don't know, they can't reprimand for having sex," she says with a shrug. "I bet you've had a conversation before with someone who was having sex and you had no idea. If only you knew how to be  _quiet_ , Vizh."

"I can't help it," he says, and smiles into her eyes. "You just feel so good, every time. I couldn't stay silent if I tried."

"I know, I know, I'm the best you've ever had," she says, and kisses him again before she lifts herself out of his lap and onto the desk. "Ever since the first time we had sex in this very office, right?"

"You are correct, Wanda," he says, and she grins.

"So, you're the best I've ever had too," she says, and he can't help the pleased smile that spreads across his face. "And right now, you're going to prove that by using that mouth of yours to make me scream right here on this desk."

She hitches her skirt up and flicks her fingers to bring his chair closer, and he obeys her. Follows her every whim as he always does, kisses his way up the insides of her thighs to flick his tongue against her clit and relish in her sharp gasp and her body arching against him. Clutching at her thighs hard enough that he'll leave bruises as she swears and moans his name, and reaches a hand down to take his, squeezing their fingers together. An intimate gesture, somehow different to him having his head between her legs, and when he moves and she screams and bucks it's their entwined fingers that make his head spin.

"Vizh...oh fuck,  _Vizh_ ,  _fuck_ , don't stop... _Vizh_!" He kisses at her thighs as she comes down, and waits for her to sit up before straightening up himself, their hands still intertwined and the soft smile on her lips undoing him. " _God_ , you're good."

"Thank you," he says, and she giggles and leans down to kiss him, and when she pulls away he bites his lip before he says, "Wanda...do you remember what I said about how different our lives could've been if we'd made one decision?"

"I've been thinking about it," she says, lowering herself into his lap. "Wondering what would've happened to me if I'd never been to Strucker. If I didn't have these powers. Or even if I did, and had never come to America."

"I think about what could've happened if I hadn't killed Bruce Banner," he says, and she's looking at him curiously. "If I'd explained who I was and where I came from. Maybe I could've been an Avenger. One of the Earth's mightiest heroes. I could've worked against HYDRA instead of being miserable working for them." Looking up into her eyes, he says, "But then I think that if I was an Avenger, we never would've met."

"Well then, for what it's worth, I'm glad you killed Banner," she says, and gives him a smile that goes straight to his heart. "If that decision set you on the path that brought you to me, then it was a good one."

He moves first to kiss her, cradling her in his lap, their hands untangling so her arms can slide around his neck. And they stay like that, lips moving slowly and tenderly together, for so long that he forgets the world. Forgets everything except the way she makes him feel.

Until the fear sets in.


	12. only a matter of time

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay again, and that this chapter is a little shorter than usual! Inspiration on this fic has really been lacking, it became such a monster project! I hope you all enjoy this installment - to quote Doctor Stephen Strange, we are in the endgame now :)

* * *

Her uniform is torn, marred by bloody scrapes against her pale skin, and she's trembling. Her hands cuffed behind her back, a terrible metal collar at her neck to suppress her powers, but they've left her without a gag. So she can whisper, "Please...Vizh,  _please_ ," and gaze at him with her beautiful green eyes wide and filled with tears, and he finds himself advancing on her, gathering the power he has to pulsate in the gem at the centre of his forehead.

"Do it, Vision," Pierce says, and he's standing at the edge of the room, cold and clinical, impervious to Wanda's frantic pleading. "She won't join HYDRA. You know what happens to those who don't accept our world order. What  _must_  happen."

"Don't do it," she pleads, desperate, tugging against the rope that binds her hands together. Pierce flicks a switch and she screams as the collar sends a shock through her, and he doesn't wince to see her. He knows what must be done. Those who do not join HYDRA are faithless. They have no place in the world.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice somehow isn't his. Dark and dangerous and completely remorseless. "You should have joined HYDRA when you had the chance."

"Vizh...please..." she whispers, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "Don't. Please don't hurt me. I...Vision, I l-"

Her words are cut off by a blast of bright yellow, and Vision jerks upright in bed, chest heaving, the grey light of dawn creeping across his room. His head is spinning, panic tightening his chest, and he can't calm himself down until Wanda's hand curves over his arm, and she's looking up at him with her eyes bright in the dimness. "Are you alright?" she asks softly, her voice so gentle, and when he looks at her he can't get the thought of her terrified face out of his mind. "Vizh?"

"I'd never let anyone hurt you," he says in a sudden, shaken rush, and she just blinks at him. "I promise.  _I_  will  _never_  hurt you. Do you understand that?"

"What's gotten into you?" she asks softly, and he just shakes his head wordlessly, the horror too much to put into words. "Vizh, you're shaking."

"I believe I just had a nightmare," he says, and her face softens with sympathy. She brushes a kiss to his bare shoulder, and tucks herself into his side, and his arm wraps around her easily. The most precious thing in the world in his arms, the only person who is important to him. He will do anything to protect her.

His breathing starts to shift as he relives that nightmare over and over again, the way her body slumped in her restraints, her last words cut off by his own ruthlessness, and Wanda turns to straddle his hips, her expression all concern. "Don't think about it," she says, cupping his face between her hands. "Look at me, Vizh. What happened in your dream that's made you so scared?"

"It was you," he says softly, and she blinks at him, wide-eyed. "It was about a...a HYDRA operative killing you. For not joining."

"Oh...Vizh, that's not going to happen," she says, and gives him a gentle smile. "I promise. I'm smarter than any HYDRA soldier, and Pietro's my getaway guy, they'd never catch us. You don't have to be scared."

"I just want you to be safe," he murmurs, and she leans closer into him, brushing her lips to the mind stone and tilting their foreheads together. "I don't want to lose you. I  _can't_."

"You won't," she promises, and kisses him, and he digs his fingers into her back to pull her closer, reminding himself that she is warm and alive and with him, her mouth shifting down his neck and her thighs wrapped around his hips. Arching her body into his, and he turns them over and pushes her shirt up as high as it will go, pressing soft kisses to her stomach and flickering his gaze up to her face, to see her lips part and her eyes grow dark with desire.

He'll never grow tired of how soft she is first thing in the morning, her moans and sharp gasps blending together, and he lingers in his kisses, her skin so soft beneath his lips, the slight scent of her perfume lingering, until she's gasping and jerking her hips up. "I swear to  _God_ , Vision," she growls, and her hand is at his forehead, pushing him down. "Get your mouth on me  _right_   _now_  or I'm walking out."

She grasps for his hand as he dips down between her legs, their fingers tightly intertwined, and the connection is so wonderful. Somehow the most intimate touch they share, even though he's seen every inch of her body, learned the softness of her skin with his lips and tongue, felt her buck against him and heard her cry out his name more times than he can count. Over eight months of this, and holding her hand is what makes him feel so close to her he would grin helplessly if his mouth wasn't busy.

Her free hand cups to the back of his head, her hips rising against his mouth, chasing release, and the rush of her Sokovian endearments is familiar enough to make a warm swell of affection spill through his chest. Though she speaks so fast he understands perhaps three words in ten, he knows from the tone of her voice what she's asking for. Ordering him to do. Faster. Harder.

He knows her rhythms, exactly how to have her gasping and moaning, whispering, "Yes yes yes yes  _yes_ ," and shifting beneath him. And when he slides his hand up her thigh and flicks his thumb against her clit she cries out and jolts beneath him as she comes, and he slides up her body leaving gentle kisses in a trail up to her breasts, rolling onto his back and smiling as he listens to her breathing slow with her coming down.

"Did that make you feel better?" she asks, rolling onto her side with a gleam in her eyes and a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. He nods, and she climbs on top of him, straddling his thighs and cupping her hand over his erection, smirk growing when his eyes fall helplessly closed and he groans softly. "You know what would make me feel safe?" He shakes his head slightly, so lost in the gentle back and forth movement of her hand, and she leans in and presses a brief kiss to his lips, making him whine when she draws away. "If I can fuck you until you forget your own name."

" _Wanda_ ," he breathes, rough and desperate, and she laughs, bright and beautiful, and sinks onto him, agonisingly slowly. Slides her arms around his neck and kisses him as she rolls her hips into his, and he's clutching at the sweat-slick small of her back, gasping her name into her mouth. And he can feel the curve of her smirk against his neck as she nips at him, and his hips jolt and she giggles, tongue flickering against his skin.

His manor is coming to life around them, he's facing another day of being of head of HYDRA, being hated by his soldiers, but in his bed he is simply himself, with Wanda so stunning in his lap, digging her nails into the back of his neck and breathing, "You're gonna make me come again, Vizh." His arms wrap around her tighter, pulling her closer, and they're kissing frantically, sloppy and desperate, just so they can be touching. Her lips are swollen against his, a flush spilling down her neck and chest, and he holds out for her to suddenly throw her head back and cry out, nails dragging across his shoulders hard enough to sting.

Maybe she's the most beautiful right after she comes, when she's soft and smiling and leaning into him, her hair brushing silking against his shoulders. And she slides her hands up his neck, lingering against the raised edges of vibranium plates, and cups his face between her hands. Drops a single, soft kiss on his lips, and draws her bottom lip between her teeth in a look he might call filthy and whispers, "You gonna come for me, Vizh?"

He does. Clutching her close, bringing her lips to his, and he smiles helplessly at her, dizzy with aftershocks. "You are amazing," he says, and she grins.

"Thank you," she says, and drops another kiss on his lips. "For the compliment, and the two orgasms."

"Oh, you're welcome," he says, grinning up at her, seeing how bright her eyes are. Understanding that he makes her happy. "Unfortunately, we can't stay in bed all day."

"If only," she says, and climbs off him, reaching for his sweater abandoned on the floor and tugging it over her head. He watches her run a hand through her hair to shake out the tangles, her bare feet wriggling in his rug, the intimacy of her wearing his clothes over her leggings and her moving so surely around his bedroom. "I'll go make breakfast. You meet me when you're dressed."

"I thought that both you and your brother are terrible cooks," he says, and she rolls her eyes at him.

"I can put fruit and yoghurt in a bowl, Vizh, it's not rocket science," she says, and narrows her eyes at him when she catches him arching an eyebrow at her. "Oh, screw you."

"Again?" he teases, and she flicks her hand to throw a pillow at him with her powers, and he hears her laughing as she leaves the room, sweeping the door shut behind her.

He chooses a white shirt for the day, securing his cufflinks, and even nods politely to the soldier patrolling the corridor when he leaves his room. Wanda just puts him in the right mood, makes him happy, and he only has to think about her for a smile to pull helplessly at the corners of his mouth. Whatever this is, whatever terrifying thing he feels that keeps him awake on the nights she doesn't stay over, it's something special. That he's sure of. He wouldn't be so happy in the terrible circumstances of his life if it wasn't.

"...although hearing you scream  _is_  a nice way to wake up. Don't you think about how every person in this manor knows how you sound when you come, Maximoff?"

"Get  _away_  from me."

Vision throws the kitchen door open so violently it crashes against the wall and bounces back. Sees Wanda pressed back against the counter, fire in her eyes but her hand visibly shaking even curled into a fist, and Williams leering at her, his disgusting gaze drinking her in, and everything flashes red. He doesn't remember darting across the room, but his hand is curled into Williams' shirt, and he's snarling, "You heard her, Williams. Get away from her."

"Are you gonna make me,  _sir_?" Williams snarls, and rage rises in Vision's chest. His fingers curl into a fist, and he punches this terrible excuse for a human being so hard his head slams into the edge of the counter, and Williams grunts in agony. "What the  _fuck_?!"

"I told you," Vision snarls, voice low and dangerous, "if you ever so much as thought of her with anything other than respect, I would make sure you die a slow and painful death. Do you think it's respectful to remind Ms. Maximoff of what you overhear, Williams?"

"Wouldn't have to if you didn't bring your little fuckbuddy into the manor," Williams snarls, and Vision hits him again, unable to calm the fury that's making the world flicker with red. Wiping a hand across his bloody nose, Williams spits, "Wait 'til I tell Pierce you hit a respected soldier for flirting with some girl."

"How  _dare_  you?" Vision growls. "Ms. Maximoff is my guest, and you  _will_  respect her."

"Everyone would love to  _respect_  her like you do,  _sir_ ," Williams spits, and the next thing Vision knows there's a broken glass in his hand, Williams clasping a hand to the wound in the side of his hand, and Wanda is grabbing his hand, pulling him back.

" _Stop_ ," she gasps out, frantic, and when he looks at her there are tears in her eyes. "Fire him, get rid of him, but don't  _kill_  him. He's just an asshole, I've dealt with them before, he was just making gross comments and touching me up, it's  _fine_ -"

"He touched you?" he asks, and his voice is so quiet. Yet deadly. "When?" Her gaze flickers down, and he asks, "Wanda,  _when_?"

"Months ago, it was months ago, you don't have to do this," she insists, and he hears the franticness in her voice. "Vizh, please. Don't kill him."

But he's so angry. Grabbing Williams and bringing his knee up into his arm with a sickening crack, his soldier giving an animal howl of agony, and pushing him against the counter. "Vision,  _stop_!"

Her powers wrap around him, hold him in place, stilling his arms against his sides, and she steps between him and Williams, fire in her eyes, red bright around her hands. "Get out," she snarls at Williams.

There's a black eye blooming on Williams' face, blood dripping down his temples, but he still spits in Wanda's face, and Vision struggles against his restraints, fury writhing in his gut, wanting to take this man and tear him limb from limb for what he's done. "I don't answer to you, witch!"

"It seems to me I'm the only thing standing between you and your boss who wants to kill you," she says coolly, and Vision feels his lips tug back in a snarl. Animalistic. Not like him. "So get out, or I'll drop the restraints."

"Williams," Vision says, low in his throat, and the soldier turns back. "If I ever come across you again, I  _will_  kill you."

Williams scrambles to get away, fear in his eyes, and Wanda drops the restrains around Vision, letting him flex his fingers, raise his arms to bring her close, protect her. But she shrinks away when he approaches her, her eyes defiant. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Vision?" she snaps, and her fingers tighten around the knife in her hand.

"I..." His voice fades away at the steel in her eyes, the tear tracks silvery on her cheeks. Because he doesn't think that his Wanda would cry over some asshole's sleazy flirting. "I was protecting you."

"I don't  _need_  to be protected!" she snaps, and her voice is so cold it could freeze water. "I had it handled, I don't need you coming in here punching first and asking questions later."

"Wanda-"

"You can get away from me too," she says sharply. "I don't like you like this. I don't want the HYDRA head who rules with an iron fist. If you're him again, you can be him alone."

"Wanda...where are you going?" he asks, almost begs, and she just looks at him coldly.

"Home."

* * *

"...born Robert Bruce Banner in 1967, the late hero grew up in New York and was widely considered a child prodigy. He was accepted to the nations most prestigious colleges before sixteen, and at the time of his death had spent his entire life working to understand our universe, gaining an astounding seven PhDs-"

"You're sulking." She refuses to look up, continuing to pick at her bowl of popcorn, until Pietro jumps over the arm of the couch to sit beside her, taking an enormous handful from the bowl and ignoring her noise of annoyance. "You're watching a documentary about Bruce Banner and eating popcorn. What happened?"

"Nothing," she says shortly, and she knows he's giving her a withering look. "I'm trying to concentrate on this, Pietro. It's interesting."

"Yes, yes, happy anniversary to the death of Bruce Banner, it's all very tragic, he died so young, so much potential cut down in its prime," Pietro says, and seizes the bowl of popcorn, ignoring her squeal and wounded look. "You're sulking. Why?"

"It's Vision's birthday," she says suddenly, the realisation creeping coldly up on her. "He was born and killed Banner immediately. He's been alive for a whole year."

"Oh, so you had a fight with lover boy," Pietro says, and she shoots him a glare. "Your death stare doesn't work on me, sister dear. What did he do?" Thoughtfully swirling the popcorn around its bowl, he adds, "And I'm assuming he did something, because you're my baby sister and I know nothing is ever your fault."

"He beat one of his sleazy soldiers half to death for flirting with me," she says, and draws her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

Pietro lets out a low whistle. "Wow. Kudos to him." He adjusts himself on the couch and says, "Personally, I would've gone the whole way and beaten the asshole completely to death, but half to death is pretty good."

"It isn't  _funny_!" she snaps, and he sobers immediately. "You didn't see him. God, he was like that guy we first met, just a head of HYDRA, and I hated it. It  _scared_  me."

"He's not that guy?"

"Of  _course_  not, no one is actually that much of a cartoon villain," she says. "The Vision  _I_  know is sweet and considerate and doesn't actually want to be a part of HYDRA at all. He wonders what his life might have been if he hadn't killed Banner and he wants to break out but doesn't know how and he makes breakfast every time I stay over and he's kind to me."

"I'm sweet and considerate and don't wanna be a part of HYDRA," Pietro says, and she rolls her eyes. "I wonder what our life would've been like if Stark's bomb hadn't killed our parents. I make your coffee in the morning. And  _I'd_  kill anyone who looked at you funny. Lover boy feels the same."

"I don't want people killing for me," she says sharply. "I can handle myself."

"Isn't the point of a brother to handle everything for you?" Pietro asks, and she elbows him hard enough to wind him.

A knock at the door makes Pietro grin and nervousness catch in her chest, and he sets the popcorn bowl down on the coffee table, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans as he gets to his feet and dramatically throws the door open to Vision waiting outside, in that disguise she hasn't seen for so long. "Good afternoon, Mr. Maximoff," he says, and his voice is shaking with nerves, and she tries not to look at him. Not to be drawn to him like a moth to a flame. "May I come in?"

"That depends," Pietro says, folding his arms. "Wanda? Can he come in?"

Standing up, she crosses the room and leans on the door, hand waiting to close it, and when she looks up into Vision's eyes her breath catches and she sees the desperation in his expression. "Why are you here, Vision?" she asks.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately, and he sounds so nervous to even talk to her. "I am so sorry, Wanda, I promise I truly am. I swear I'm not still the head of HYDRA who rules with an iron fist, I'm  _not_ , you made me different, being with you has made me realise how good people can be, I'm not still that man that killed people for looking at him the wrong way. I...I just lost it when I realised what Williams did to you. I want to protect you. I owe it to you to keep you safe for dragging you into my world and bringing you onto HYDRA's radar. I should never have let him stay in the manor after the first time I realised he was such a disgusting person, I am truly sorry you ever had to be around him." He finishes, gasps for breath, and looks at her again. "Please, may I come in? I want to make it clear how sorry I am."

"And that's my cue to exit," Pietro says, snatching a set of keys and his leather jacket from the hooks. "You two have fun now. That documentary really seems fascinating, you might want to keep it on in the background."

"Shut  _up_ ," Wanda snaps, and her brother's smirk sears itself into her memory as he swings the door closed behind him and leaves her alone with Vision. Still disguised, nervously shifting from foot to foot, and she says, "If you're here to be honest you should take off the disguise."

The bright glow of the mind stone breaks through, and he's looking at her with so much nervousness in his gaze. "Wanda-"

"No," she says shortly. "Do you understand why I was angry, Vision?"

"I stepped into a situation that you had handled," he says, and he looks so ashamed of himself. Like a kicked puppy. "And I...I regressed to the man you first met. I'm not him anymore, Wanda, I'm  _not_ -"

"I know," she says, looking up at him, the shame in his eyes and the endless apologies on his lips. "I know you're not him. But I can't stand the thought that you only need one trigger to go back to him. I don't like who you used to be, Vision. I like you  _now_."

"I like me now," he says, very quietly. So quiet she's not sure she was meant to hear. "I promise, Wanda, I'll never be the man I used to be again." He takes her hands, clasps them tightly in his, and she doesn't pull away. "Williams threatening you just set me off. And after I dreamt of you being hurt by HYDRA, I couldn't...I just snapped. I don't want people to hurt you."

"That doesn't mean you jump into something I'm handling and try to kill someone," she snaps, and he hangs his head. "Vision...that wasn't the first time some asshole has come on too strong. I handled myself before I had these powers, and I handle myself now. The last thing I want in a partner is someone who thinks they have to throw themselves into every situation to help me. I am not a damsel in distress."

"I know," he says, and raises her hands to his lips to press gentle kisses to her fingers. "I like that you're not a damsel in distress. I like that you don't need someone to protect you. It...it's what I found so attractive about you when we first met, Wanda."

"Not my body?" she asks, the words just slipping out of her.

"It's a bonus," he says, and she cracks a smile, and he gives her a tentative smile back. "But when we first met, and you refused to join HYDRA, said you wanted to make them your enemy, I...well, I'd never known such strong attraction so instantaneously before. Or since."

"So you think it's hot that I'm so dominant?" she asks, arching an eyebrow up at him, and he nods. "Well then...are you ever going to treat me like a damsel in distress again?"

"Of course not," he says, so sincerely. "I will let you handle anything the world throws your way. You are so strong, Wanda, and I like that about you. A lot. I'm so, so sorry that I ever made you feel like I want to take your independence away. I want you to be independent. I just...would like it if you came back to me when you're done fighting your own battles."

"I will," she says softly, and tilts her head up to kiss him, shivering as his fingers slide slowly up her arms to cup her face, and she presses their foreheads together when they part, smiling at how shallow his breathing has become from just one kiss. "You know what having an argument means we get to do now?"

"What?" he asks softly, affection softening his eyes, making them brighter, and her chest  _aches_  at the way he's looking at her.

"Make-up sex," she says sweetly, smiling up at him. She grins when he groans softly, and tugs him down into a kiss, steering him across the apartment to her bedroom.

She couldn't begin to count the number of times she's unbuttoned his shirt, thrown it to the ground, unzipped his slacks and pushed him back onto a bed, climbed on top of him and felt him pushing against her, already half-hard just from anticipation. But every time is still as perfect as the first, when she pushed him into his office chair and lost herself in him. Now it's more passionate than it was back then, if that's even possible, he clutches at her harder and trails caresses over every inch of her body, and she shudders against him and pulls her hair aside for him to kiss at her neck, his hands creeping up her stomach to cup her breasts, thumbs flicking over her nipples and making her moan into his shoulder.

It means so much, being close to him. Knowing that he sees her exactly as she is. Dominant, yes. But a mess underneath it all, scared of her own powers, with a past she hasn't told him everything about, and he still wants her. Because he's a mess underneath it all too, and they see each other for what they are. Not what they could be. Not some gilded, idealised version of each other. He sees her, and she sees him. And whatever huge, terrifying thing she feels, it's for that nervous, insecure mess of a human being. She wants him.

He gasps into her neck at a twist of her hips, the familiar stretch of him inside her setting her alight, and she presses a kiss to the mind stone, feeling the humming warmth of it beneath her lips. The black that used to glow in it is only drops now, the yellow shining bright, and she pulls his head upwards to kiss him, this miracle of a person who has given her so much pleasure, brought so much light and happiness into her life. She just feels so much for him, something of an unexplainable magnitude, and as she gasps his name against his lips and arches into him he holds her close. And that means more than words can ever say.

"You know," she says after she's come down, while he's still lying next to her, breathing rough, "it's your birthday."

"Is it?" he asks softly, and there's a sort of sadness growing in her chest to think that no one else remembered. That no one thought to celebrate him. "I've been alive for a whole year. It doesn't seem like it."

"I didn't get you a present," she says, and he just turns his head and smiles at her.

"You've forgiven my stupid mistakes," he says. "That is more than enough of a gift to me."

And she rolls on top of him and kisses him again.

* * *

"First order of business," Pierce says, and the council members around Vision are making notes, faces darkening into solemn masks, "Tony Stark. He slipped through SHIELD's fingers this week, and whispers say he truly has lost his mind after Colonel Rhodes' death."

"Sir, if I may?" Malick asks, and Pierce nods, steepling his fingers and peering at Malick over them. "I think if we could track Stark down and hold him in one of our facilities he would be an excellent pawn. SHIELD is desperate to rescue Stark and bring him back to the fold, and if we could secure him first we will stand in far better stead for negotiations."

"HYDRA does not  _negotiate_ , Gideon," Pierce says sharply, and Malick shrinks back in his seat. "But I do believe we should set some of our resources to tracking Stark. He may yet prove useful."

"I will arrange for a few of my men to track Stark, sir," the Baroness says, and Pierce nods at her with a kind of respect behind his eyes. One he doesn't show for any other council member. Least of all Vison, who has been dreading this meeting since he watched Williams stumble out of the manor drenched in his own blood, holding a broken arm gingerly, those disgusting fingers that he used to touch Wanda like she's just a piece of meat hanging limp.

"As you all no doubt know, we lost an entire task force this week," Pierce says solemnly, and though Vision goes through the motions of pouring a drink for the lost, to toast their names and the duty they've done for HYDRA, he can't help an internal thrill that Pierce isn't confronting him yet. Maybe he'll get away with it. "We must all be more vigilante. SHIELD is tightening their grip on the world. The Avengers will stop at nothing to wipe us out."

"But we will stop at nothing to wipe  _them_  out," Bloom says, a sinister smile curling onto his face at the thought of more violence. More bloodshed. Looking at that future, Vision can't help but think he doesn't want to destroy anymore. He'd rather spend his days in bed with Wanda, listening to her laugh and feeling the curve of her smile against his skin.

"Vision." He looks up, and his stomach sinks at the way Pierce is looking at him. "We must address your recent behaviour. Is my understanding correct when I hear that you beat Adam Williams half to death without provocation?"

"I don't know that I beat him half to death, sir," Vision says defiantly, and regrets it when he sees the fire in Pierce's eyes. "I had provocation. Williams was disrespectful towards Ms. Maximoff, making lewd comments, and I learned that he touched her without her consent months ago and she was too afraid to admit it."

"You consider a little flirting to be provocation to almost kill a man?" Malick asks, arching an eyebrow, and Vision sees red again, anger roiling in his gut.

"I'm sure you wouldn't consider it a little flirting if Williams had treated your wife or daughter like that, Malick," he snaps. Letting his emotions take over again. He has to be more careful in meetings, it won't do to keep letting the council see the strength of his feelings for Wanda.

"Ms. Maximoff is neither your wife nor your daughter, Vision," Pierce says coldly. "She is a mission. A mission you have two weeks left to complete, or I'm afraid nothing you do will protect Ms. Maximoff from me."

"I know, sir," Vision says, cool and professional, though protective instincts are swelling in his chest and he wants to damn this entire organisation to hell and run to make Wanda safe from them. He'd kill every member of HYDRA if it would make sure she was safe. "I will complete it. You must have faith in me."

"I used to," Pierce says. "And now I'm not sure anymore."

And though Vision knew it, it's still a slap in the face to hear it. The only person who has ever had unconditional faith in him is Wanda.

That's why he feels  _something_  for her. So much something that he spends a sleepless night terrified that his time is up and he'll lose her.

It can't happen. His life won't be worth anything if he can't save her. He'd do anything to keep her safe.


End file.
